


fool for you

by hoegeta



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Panic Attacks, Pining, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Swearing, and also a simp for tifa, beware this is really dumb, but only a smattering, cloud is an awkward bub, i am as well, i love tifa, im writing this solely because i love tifa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoegeta/pseuds/hoegeta
Summary: College sucks.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 163
Kudos: 326





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i just graduated college and i miss it so here have a stupid messy ff7 college au
> 
> also please be gentle this is my first story on here

Cloud blames Zack for this entirely. This is all Zack’s fault. Everything is always Zack’s fault.

It started during their first year. Cloud used to have dreams. Big dreams, becoming an engineer and the first college graduate of the family, studying hard and bringing home grades that’d make his mom’s head explode in glee. No fucking around, no parties, no drinking and drugs, and no girls. _Especially_ no girls. Cloud’s not the type to have girlfriends, and deep down, he knows it’s because he absolutely sucks at anything that involves socializing, but he refuses to admit it aloud. No girlfriends because he is a good, hardworking college student. Yeah. People’ll believe that.

Zack doesn’t, and he’s an asshole for it. In the first month after starting college, Zack _had_ to go and get himself a girlfriend. Aerith is nice, a type of lovely that’ll always be too good for Zack, cute and bubbly but will never hesitate to slam down a man if she has to. Zack has no morals, no qualms, no sense of dedication, and Cloud, a year later, is still wondering what the fuck a girl like Aerith is doing with him.

Regardless, this is all Zack’s fault, because Aerith has a friend. A _very pretty friend_.

_Tifa_.

Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa _Tifa_.

And just like that, Cloud’s ambitious, studious dreams fall right into the gutter, because he’s so absolutely _smitten_ with Tifa that he can hardly ever focus on anything else.

Fuck Zack. This is all his fault.

Right now, the Most Beautiful Girl in Existence is right in front of him, crouching like he is, quickly grabbing some papers that are strewn about around her. Cloud’s papers, from his folders and books, which all went toppling to the floor because he wasn’t watching where he was walking, and a rough shoulder knocked into him. He didn’t know Tifa would be here, in this very hallway, gracing him with her beautiful, ethereal, perfect presence.

She did not hesitate to come and aid him in gathering his fallen things. An angel, truly too good for this godforsaken planet.

“Did you have a good summer?” she asks, and what the fuck, how is he supposed to focus on anything when she’s smiling at him like that? Tifa smiles like the sun, a burst of golden light that bathes the world around her, like relief, like peace, like home. Cloud feels absolutely enamored, his heart hammering and picking up speed in his chest, his cheeks blooming into a warm, red blush. He probably looks like a tomato right now. Tifa usually does that to him.

Then, he remembers that she asked him a question. He should probably respond.

“Tomato.”

“What?”

Fuck, fuck. God. Socializing sucks. This sucks. How is he supposed to say coherent words when _Tifa is that beautiful_?

“Uh, yeah,” he finally says, rubbing at the nape of his neck with his hand. Tifa gives him back the papers she has gathered for him, and together, the two of them stand. “Thanks.”

“Headed to class?” She holds a notebook against her chest, her eyes capturing the afternoon sun, the red of them shimmering. Her eyes are so wide, and her lashes are so long, and her nose is so cute, and her lips are so cute, and her cheeks are so cute, and her everything is _so cute_.

“Y—yeah,” he stammers. “I have World Cultures.”

“Oh, I do too!” Her smile broadens, and _dear god oh my god don’t faint_. “Do you have it with Tucker, at twelve?”

Yes, yes, he does. _Oh my god he has a class with Tifa_.

“Yay! We have a class together! Now I’m not dreading it anymore.”

She gives a little laugh, tinkling and soft, and Cloud’s very ready to go into cardiac arrest. If he’s like this now, how is he supposed to survive an entire semester sitting next to her? It’d been bad enough when they’d been with their friends, and he’d watched her laugh and throw insults back and forth with Zack and Reno. It’s not that Cloud feels like he’s an outcast, but he’s quieter than the rest of their friends, and he’d always felt sort of drowned in shadows when Tifa would be talking to the others.

But then, she’d always ask him something, pull him into the conversation, make sure he was included. And honestly, that’s why he began to fall.

“Yeah,” he says, managing a very plain smile, which is, no doubt, awkward on his mouth. Tifa says they should get going, and he agrees, and as she walks in front of him, her ponytail swaying back in forth in time with her hips (wide hips, nice thighs, great curves, _amazing fucking tits_ , and _no_ , shut up, no, bad Cloud), he thinks about what he’s going to do.

Now, it’ll just be him and her, in a class, together.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Professor Tucker likes to talk. A lot. And Cloud’s grateful for it, because it means he doesn’t have to struggle to make conversation with Tifa. On his right, Tifa listens to the professor intently, follows the syllabus closely, even raises her hand to ask questions about certain projects later in the year. Cloud only stares at her in awe.

She smells like vanilla. Tifa smells sweet, and her scent weaves itself into his senses, torturing him every time she turns and gives him a fresh wave of it. She’s wearing silver earrings today, and her lips are painted in pale red gloss. She writes something onto her syllabus with a mechanical pencil, and Cloud follows her movements, looks at her clipped nails, perfectly polished and manicured. He just likes looking at her. Absorbing her. Committing every inch, every little detail of her to memory, letting her burn into the creases of his brain. He likes everything about her. Every little thing.

Tifa is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Seems like it’ll be a tough class,” she says, sighing a bit. “I’m glad I have you. We can study together.”

_Oh my god Tifa wants to study with him._

“Y—yeah,” he says. And right now, sitting next to Tifa in this lecture hall, he decides on something.

He’s really, _really_ not going to survive the semester.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud often wonders how he ended up befriending someone like Zack, much less becoming close to him. So close that they’ve bought an apartment together, and Zack, often affectionately, refers to Cloud as his “Bestest Bro in the World.” The name warms Cloud’s heart, but of course, he’d never admit that out loud, because fuck Zack. (But he loves him. Really.)

Right now, Cloud does not love Zack. Not one bit.

“Alright, y’all, new semester, new bet. What’ll it be?!”

“I say one month!” Aerith supplies happily. “I believe in you, Cloud!”

Reno clicks his tongue. “We’ll graduate before he gets the balls to do it. I say three years.”

“We’ll be old and gray by the time he does it,” Vincent grunts, crossing his arms.

Cloud feels thoroughly offended. Reno is always an ass, but Vincent? _Vincent_ betrayed him? That’s a wound. That _hurts_.

“Auw, come on, guys!” Zack rests his arm on Cloud’s shoulders, jostling him. “Have some faith in my boy!”

“It’s been a year!” Yuffie yells. “I lost faith in him a long time ago!”

“He’s shy!” Aerith defends.

“I’m shy!” Cloud squeaks, and his voice breaks a little.

“I’m still sayin’ three years,” Reno decides, tapping his fingers on the table. “How much are we betting?”

“Three hundred!” Yuffie gives a sly laugh. “Let’s up the stakes!”

“Fine,” Vincent says. Reno and Aerith don’t object, either. The final decisions are made; Yuffie says one more year, and Zack says three months, by the end of the semester. And Cloud supposes he should feel angry at this blatant insulting by his friends of him and his inability to act on his severe crush, their molding of his crisis into a money-making game. But honestly, he doesn’t care all that much, and they’re all idiots, anyway. He isn’t losing money, and it’ll be fun to watch the losers suffer as they hand over their money to the winner.

What he should be focused on is exactly what this bet is about: doing something about his hopeless crush on Tifa.

“Hey! What’re we talking about?”

The conversation dies immediately, and Cloud tenses as Tifa settles into the seat on his right, _very casually_ leaning onto his shoulder as she does. It’s fine. _It’s totally fine_. Vanilla sneaks into his nose, dulls all his senses until his mind is muddled in her, the way she leans her backpack onto the legs of her chair, the way she rests her elbows on the table, her hair a curtain of raven silk down her back. Today it’s free of confines, and god, fuck, he wants to run his fingers through it _so badly_.

“Nothing,” Aerith sings pleasantly. “What’s up, Teef? Finished class for the day?”

Tifa nods. “Yeah, thank god. Now, I’m starving!” She looks across the room, at the menus that hang above the cashier’s counter. The campus café doesn’t have the best food, but it suffices, Cloud thinks. Way better than the fucking dining hall, that’s for sure. “I’m gonna go order something.”

She lifts herself from her chair, and Zack, his eyes wide, begins to yell.

“Hey, Cloud, why don’t you go with her?!”

Cloud grimaces, looking down at the empty plate in front of him. “But I already ordered—”

“Shut up!” Zack screams, cutting him off. “Just go!”

“Idiot,” Vincent grumbles. Cloud, suddenly, is being pushed off his chair by Aerith and Yuffie’s insistent, surprisingly strong hands. He stumbles up, next to Tifa, who looks very confused but not opposed to Cloud accompanying her. She gives him a light, lilting smile.

“We’d better get in line,” she tells him, and he nods, finding himself tongue-tied and panicked at the sight of her smile. As they begin to walk towards the counter, Reno calls out to them.

“Yo, get me a turkey sandwich!”

Cloud’s not going to do that, because fuck Reno.

“I can’t believe we already have homework for World Cultures,” Tifa says, letting out a tiny, exasperated laugh. “I mean, it’s only the first week!”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, clearing his throat a bit. “Tucker’s a bitch.”

“I agree.” She giggles, and no, please, heart, please, _relax_. “Do you wanna do the homework together?”

Cloud proceeds to choke on nothing but his own spit, hacking until his lungs dislocate inside his chest, and Tifa’s hands are shockingly powerful as they slam into his back, trying to assist him in breathing. But it’s not working, and his lungs aren’t working, and his heart is very nearly about to give out.

_Tifa Lockhart wants to do homework with him._

“Are you okay?!”

“Ho—homework…” he heaves, his voice strained, crawling desperately out his throat. “With me?”

“Yeah,” Tifa answers. “You can come to mine and Aerith’s dorm room.”

_Oh my god he’s gonna go to Tifa’s dorm room._

It occurs to him that he’s a fucking loser. Acting like a lovesick little boy in front of his crush when he’s actually an adult. It’s ridiculous, truly. Maybe he understands why his friends always make fun of him. But Tifa’s the type of perfect that can make anyone into a lovesick child; he knows that other men fawn over her. The football team practically worships her (fucking Rude and his bald head).

Then there’s Rufus Shinra, upperclassman, mechanical engineering major (like Cloud), grade A asshole. Snooty because of his looks and wealth and power, and last semester, when he’d given Tifa a bouquet of lilies at the Spring Ball, no one could stop talking about it for days after.

It makes sense, why men flock at her feet. Because Tifa is perfect, the most beautiful person Cloud’s ever seen. And he can’t help it, the way he forgets how to speak around her, the way his heart spasms and gives out whenever she smiles. He’d been so shy all his life he never really had the chance to act like a lovesick little boy.

Now he is, and it’s fucking embarrassing.

“Cloud?” Tifa’s voice pulls him out of his deep realm of thoughts. He blinks.

“Oh,” he stammers, fiddling with a button on his shirt. “Y—yeah, your room is fine.”

“Great!” It gets closer and closer to Tifa’s turn in line. At this time of afternoon, the café is always the busiest, and he's annoyed, because he has to get Reno the fucking turkey sandwich. “Let me know what day and time is good for you.”

Cloud only nods. But honestly, if Tifa wants to hang out with him, he’d literally drop every other thing on his schedule just to make time for her. Because she deserves that much.

God, he’s so fucking whipped.

**.**

**.**

**.**

“God, you’re so fucking whipped.”

Cloud glares. “The fuck are you doing here?” He wishes Zack told him that he’d be coming here as well, so they could have just carpooled. But alas, Zack is stupid.

“Got a date with Aerith.”

Immediately, panic floods Cloud’s chest, and he grabs Zack by the shoulders, hauling the taller man forward.

“No! Why?!”

“Why not?!” Zack pries Cloud’s grip off him, smoothing down the dark silk of his shirt. “I love her!”

“Now I’m gonna be alone with Tifa!”

Cloud quelled his anxiety about his very night using only one fact: that Aerith would be in the room, as well. After all, she and Tifa share the room, and where could she really go on a Wednesday night? He fully expected her to be in the room with them as they did homework, and she even mentioned mindlessly that she didn’t think she would have any plans tonight. But of course, conveniently, she does. She’s going on a date with Zack, fucking Zack.

The anxiety is high, prickling at every single one of Cloud’s trillion nerves. He and Tifa are going to do homework. In her dorm room. Alone. At night. No Aerith. _Alone_. His palms are clammy, and the heat crawls into his cheeks, towards the tips of his ears. Him and Tifa. _Alone_.

He feels like a teenager hitting puberty. This is ridiculous.

“Cloud? Is that you?”

The door swings open, and Tifa stands in front of him, and the first thing he sees is leg. Long legs, pale, creamy skin, shorts so short he’s sure that if she bent over it’d be over for him. Her legs look soft. Briefly, he wonders what kind of lotion she uses. Maybe vanilla-scented, like her perfume?

Not the time, Cloud. Not the fucking time.

“I thought I heard voices out here!” Tifa smiles. “Here to pick up Aerith?”

Zack’s grin is wolfish. “Yup. Is she ready?”

“I am!” A voice flutters behind Tifa, and Aerith comes, swathed in pale, pink cotton that flutters like angel wings as she walks. She’s painted and pretty, very ready for her date, and Cloud nearly wants to laugh as he witnesses Zack’s expression.

Awe. Pure, unadulterated awe, his jaw slack, his eyes blown wide. That’s the look of love, Cloud thinks.

Tch. And _Cloud’s_ the whipped one.

Aerith steps towards Zack, giggling a bit. She reaches up, on her tiptoes, to peck him quickly on the cheek.

“Ready to go?”

Zack nods, his arm curling around her waist. Tifa waves at them as they walk down the hall.

“Have fun!”

Cloud watches the happy couple go, and now, the severity of his situation dawns on him. He and Tifa are alone. They’re very alone.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god _oh god_.

“You can come in,” Tifa says around a laugh.

“R—right.” Cloud steps inside, and Tifa shuts the door behind him. This isn’t his first time being in Tifa’s room, but it’s surely his first time being here alone, as all the other times, they were with their friends. And if he recalls correctly, this isn’t the same building Tifa and Aerith had been in last year, but the basics of the room are identical. Two desks, two chairs, two beds, one with frilly, pink bedding, the other with floral, turquoise bedding. Tifa walks towards the latter bed, settling onto it with her knees coming to tuck into her chest.

“Sit,” she says, patting the space next to her. Cloud, finding his throat dry and constricted, only nods, swallowing thickly. He kicks off his sneakers, and he settles onto Tifa’s bed, making sure to spare a few feet of space between their bodies. Tifa’s already flipping through the textbook, trying to find the designated page Professor Tucker assigned them. Luckily, she has the textbook, because Cloud was not about to buy that shit. So expensive for no reason. “I guess he wants us to answer these questions.”

Cloud looks at the page, right where her pretty, manicured finger points. There are twenty-two questions. And they’re not multiple choice.

“Fuck that guy,” Cloud mutters, and this tugs a tinkling laugh from Tifa’s lips. Immediately, his pulse quickens, drumming heavily in his chest and throbbing in his ears. Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe, breathe. But he can’t, because Tifa still smells like vanilla, and being next to her, he can even smell the coconut in her hair. Today, it’s pulled into a loose, messy bun that hangs at the top of her head. He likes Tifa when she’s dolled up, in her dresses and skirts, but he also likes her like this, in her tank top and bun, uncaring and casual. Tifa’s pretty in every way, no matter what she wears.

“I think it’d be quicker if we split up the questions,” she decides, tapping the eraser of her pencil against her lip as she reads the textbook page. “And we’ll copy each other’s answers afterwards.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to do all these questions by himself. And maybe, busying himself with the questions will help soothe his frazzled nerves.

Maybe, this won’t be that bad. Maybe, he doesn’t need Aerith after all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

“Ugh, I’m tired. Let’s take a break!’

He was wrong. He needs Aerith. This is bad.

Tifa tucks the pencil into the spine of the textbook, to act as a bookmark, before she shuts it and throws it aside. Her notebook is thrown away as well, and she lifts herself off her bed, stretching out her limbs as her bones crack in protest. She lets out a tiny, strained whine, and Cloud _tries his absolute best_ not to stare at the exposed skin of her abdomen as her tank top hikes higher and higher with her stretches.

He’s failing miserably. Suddenly, he feels so hot, like the bedroom is suffocating him in flames. It’s bad enough that he likes her so much. But her body, the toned curves, the long legs, the thick thighs, the _full breasts_ ; it’s unbearable, truly. Cloud’s a guy. A dude. He likes girls, and he likes their bodies. A lot. Maybe not as much as Zack and Reno, and he may be a virgin, but he’s not above letting Tifa’s image bloom within his mind in the dead of night as he, well, you know, _gets off_. But he’d rather die before admitting that aloud; he’ll take it to the fucking grave with him, because he doesn’t need his friends to make fun of him for _that_ , on top of everything else. He’d never hear the end of it.

But really, can they blame him? Because Tifa, as well as being the Most Beautiful and Perfect Angel Ever, also has the hottest fucking body on campus. The fact that her tank top is tight and her shorts are barely enough to cover her ass is not helping. Not helping one bit.

No, stop, bad Cloud, _noooooo_.

“You hungry?” Tifa asks, opening the tiny fridge that sits next to Aerith’s bed. Cloud can’t see much of what’s in there, not when he’s drinking in the view of Tifa bent over in front of him. He was right; this view really is the death of him. After a few seconds, she shuts the door with a huff, turning to him. “Guess we’re having ramen.”

Ramen is good, he thinks. Food. Food is good. Think about food and not how good Tifa’s ass looks in those shorts—

He’s a mess. An utter human disaster. He’d already been so nervous about being alone with Tifa in her room. And now, as she drops flavor packets into two cardboard bowls of noodles, he desperately tries to think about anything but the blood that’s rushing downwards, the heat that’s beginning to bubble inside his core. No, no, no, this is horrible, and why did Zack have to take Aerith on a date tonight of all fucking nights?

Wait. Wait. Was it…on _purpose_? Did they leave so Cloud could be alone with Tifa?

Oh, he’s gonna murder Zack.

“Cloud?” Tifa’s looking at him, and he’s quick to adjust the position of his legs so she doesn’t see the blatant tent in his pants. God, this is fucking embarrassing. “You okay? You’re all red.”

“F—fine,” he stutters. “It’s, uh, kinda hot in here.”

“Oh!” Tifa immediately goes towards the tower fan that leans against the wall near her desk. She turns it on, and Cloud’s grateful for the burst of cool air that whispers over him, sneaking into the spaces left by his clothes. It’s good, but it’s not enough, and he still finds himself sweating, his heartbeat raging under his ribs. He doesn’t know what to do. If he gets up to leave, then she’ll, no doubt, see the, uh, _situation_ in his jeans. But he doesn’t actually think he can survive staying with her alone in this room any longer, either.

So, he just stays on her bed, adjusting his legs so the tent in his jeans isn’t so uncomfortable, and he stews in his own pathetic, pathetic misery.

Tifa, seemingly forgetting about the ramen that’s twirling in the microwave, walks to him, her thighs brushing against the edge of the mattress.

“You look flustered.”

Oh no. _Oh no_. She knows. She knows, and she’s going to hate him and kick him out and ridicule him in front of their friends—

“Need some help?”

As Tifa crawls into the bed, leans against him, and snakes her hand up his abdomen, Cloud only stares in absolute _shock_ , his jaw slack, his eyes so wide they’ll probably fall out of his skull. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to think as Tifa’s pretty, manicured hand slides down his arm, riding the highways of blue until she reaches his fingers, threading them with hers.

“Is this okay?” she asks, and he really, _truly_ cannot speak. Words are far beyond his capabilities, and he only gawks at her, wondering what deity above is blessing him with their abundant kindness at this moment. Wondering if this actually real, or if he’s absorbed in another one of his late-night fantasies.

Tifa tilts her head a bit, batting her lashes at him. She pulls her hand back.

“We don’t have to—”

“No!” It’s embarrassing, how quickly he yelled. “I mean—you—I—you don’t hate me? You don’t think I’m a gross pervert? You don’t wanna kick me out and ruin my reputation?”

Tifa laughs, and it’s a pleasant sound that immediately washes him in warmth. “No, silly. If I thought you were a gross pervert, I wouldn’t have invited you to my room when Aerith would be gone.”

She comes a bit closer, her eyes twinkling, caught within the coming moon’s silver fingers. Her smile is soft, beautiful, angelic like it always is, but there’s a hint of something else in there. Something nefarious. Something wanting.

“And I wouldn’t have worn these shorts.”

_Evil_. She’s evil. Cloud swallows, and he can’t help but notice how her eyes follow the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“If you’re uncomfortable,” she begins, and she’s earnest, “we don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says immediately, and he’s absolutely sure, because _Tifa_ , his crush, the love of his life, the woman who has his mind and heart hostage, wants to do bad things with him, in her dorm room, alone at night.

Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa _Tifa_.

He’s been blessed. Someone in the sky is on his side. Maybe he should go to church. Maybe he should go gamble with all the fucking luck he has.

Her smile is comforting, a golden sun that trickles over his senses. She comes forward, and her lips are just as soft as he’d always thought they’d be. And they taste like cherry lip balm, sweet and fruity, and he’s willing as her tongue comes to poke at the seam between his lips. It comes in, tangling with his, and he still can’t quite wrap his head around what’s happening. He’s kissing Tifa. _Tifa_ , the girl he’s been hopelessly in love with for a whole year.

She doesn’t waste much time, and he jolts as he feels a hand palm the bulge in his jeans. She pulls back, amused at his reaction, and she does it again, that same touch that elicits a shudder from him, forces a light moan out of his lips. Nervousness laps at his nerves as she unbuttons his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper. He’s never done this with any girl before, much less Tifa. He honestly still can’t believe his luck.

Does…does she _like_ him too? Does she? Maybe. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on the thought because her hand pulls his cock out of his boxers, his flesh hard and needy within her hold. Tifa’s hand is small and dainty, much softer and gentler than his own, and he can’t stop looking at it holding his erection, those polished, manicured nails. Her thumb swipes at the precum that beads at his head, dragging the wetness down a vein pulsing on the underside.

“Tell me how to touch you,” she whispers, and fuck, fuck, _god_ , he may come right here and now. “Show me how you like it.”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Her free hand wraps around his wrist, guiding his hand to hers around his cock. He likes her grip; it feels good, heavenly really, but when he does this, his grip is usually a bit tighter. So, he gives her hand a tiny squeeze, and she gets the message immediately, tightening her grip around him.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, his head leaning back against the wall. Tifa giggles a little, and with her soft, pretty hand, she strokes his cock up and down, her grip just the way he likes it. Cloud begins to fidget, his toes curling in his socks, his fingers gripping the turquoise sheet under him. His breathing is labored, coming out of him in ragged puffs, and he can think of nothing but Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, her hand around his cock, the way she touches him, gentle but with purpose, wanting to please him, wanting to make him feel good. Her fingers flutter about the head, and he bites his lip, pleasure burning under his skin in incessant fires.

“Like this?” she asks, very nearly sings the words. He barely manages a nod as she quickens her pace, and he can feel her gaze searing into him, tearing past his defenses, all the way to his soul. “Look at me.”

He obeys. He looks right into her eyes, the irises of them waltzing with a thick, dark haze of lust. He looks into her eyes as he comes, a violent tremor raking over his body, the vicious coil of pleasure in his abdomen unraveling in white ribbons onto her hand and wrist. Her name hangs on his tongue in a desperate whisper as she works him through his high; the fall back down is exhausting, and he feels satisfied in every single millimeter of his body. Tifa pulls away, leaning over to grab the tissue box from her desk.

“Oh,” he says, instantly recoiling in sheer embarrassment. He fumbles as he tries to get some tissues from her. “S—sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She giggles as she cleans herself up. And Cloud only stares, dumbfounded; she’s just given him the best handjob of his life, and she asks for nothing in return. And although he had his orgasm, he still wants more, more of her, wants to pleasure her the same way she did him. Wants to touch her how she likes it, see her writhing and moaning under him. Tifa, beautiful, perfect, angelic Tifa, withered to an aroused, flushed mess under him, coming undone because of him and him alone.

He wants it. So, so bad.

But it seems his incredible luck has finally run out.

“Teef! We’re comin’ in!”

At the clicking of the door, Tifa throws herself away from Cloud, her notebook and the box of tissues going flying. Cloud scrambles to zip his pants, and when Aerith opens the door and walks in, Cloud rolls onto his side, cowering into the fetal position on Tifa’s bed, wondering why now, of all times, his fucking zipper has to get caught. Perhaps he used up too much of his luck.

“You guys had fun?” He doesn’t miss the utter elation in Zack’s voice. Fuck that guy.

“Why is he in the fetal position?” Aerith asks. “Teef, what did you do to him?!”

“N—nothing!” Tifa stammers back. “We were doing homework!”

Finally, Cloud is able to zip up his jeans. He sits up, but he’s unwilling to face the newcomers; there’s no way he can look them in the eyes. He knows they can see the vibrant flush in his and Tifa’s faces, the fact that he’s so disheveled and Tifa is literally on the floor along with her notebook and box of tissues. They’re not stupid.

They planned this. The fucking assholes planned this.

“More like doing _each othe_ r,” Zack snickers. Aerith leans into his ear, smiling deviously.

“Looks like I’m gonna win…”

“No!” Zack turns to Cloud, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re gonna wait another three months! Keep it in your pants!”

Cloud only groans, his head in his hands.

**.**

**.**

**.**


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't expect anyone to even read this much less enjoy it so thank you all so much!!!

Cloud can’t stop thinking about the handjob.

It’s troubling, truly. Every one of his waking moments is plagued in that lovely memory, Tifa’s soft, manicured hand, on his cock, wanting to please him. The dark way she looked at him is seared into his soul, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do in order to see it again. But he’s been thinking. Wondering what Tifa’s intentions are.

The thought of her liking him back often crosses his mind, but every time it does, he pushes it away. There’s no way someone like her would have a crush on someone like him. Why would she when Rufus Shinra is _right_ there? Are all the hotter, cooler guys on campus dead for her to like Cloud? It’s nonsensical, really. Tifa is the kind of perfect that’s unattainable for a loser like him. And that’s the cold, bitter truth.

Maybe Vincent won’t even win the bet. Maybe Cloud will never, ever confess his feelings to Tifa. Maybe a love between them is never meant to bloom.

“You’re thinking too hard about it,” Zack says, and then, he sinks his teeth into his sandwich. Cloud winces as Zack uses his oily fingers to grab the remote and change the channel. He’s a heathen. “If she didn’t like you, why would she give you a handjob?”

“Maybe she just likes me physically,” Cloud says, shrugging. “I’m not that bad looking, you know.”

“Hey, you’re sexy as hell!” Zack yells, and aw, that’s sweet. “Any girl would be happy to give you a handjob!”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but thanks.”

“Just see where it goes,” Zack says, and hm, is that an actual, coherent thought out of his mouth? “There’s nothing wrong with having sex and stuff. You can figure out where you two stand later.”

Hm. Okay. That makes sense, Cloud thinks. He can do that. See this through. See where it goes. Maybe it’s his dick talking, or maybe it’s the part of him that just craves to be close to Tifa. Whatever the case, he’ll just be patient. And then, the part about feelings and love and relationships can come later. Or, it can never come, and he’ll be fine with that. Yes, probably, because someone like him does _not_ deserve someone like Tifa.

He wonders if he can survive. Being close to Tifa, doing bad things with her, having her but not having her all at once. So close, but so, so far. He wonders if it’ll be good for his sanity.

Then, he remembers the handjob. And he’s happy again, all his doubts thrown out the window.

**.**

**.**

**.**

“Are you stupid?”

Cloud frowns. Fucking Vincent, thinking he’s all smart just because he wears glasses. Fuck Vincent. Cloud’s a _lot_ smarter than him.

“Talk to her,” he says, as if spelling it out for a small child. “Communicate. It’s what _adults_ do, Strife.”

Hm. Doesn’t sound like something Cloud wants to do. He’s horribly inept at anything that has to do with talking. Imagine the mess that would be him trying to communicate with Tifa about this. He shudders just at the thought. She wouldn’t even want to give him handjobs anymore.

“No thanks, Valentine,” Cloud says, and Vincent sighs.

“Guess I’ll win the bet then.”

Fuck Vincent. Cloud hates this guy. He looks back at the television, where Zack and Reno are submerged deeply in an intense match between Kirby and Link. Every week, Reno and Vincent come to the apartment for Guys Night, where they play video games and watch movies and eat snacks so unhealthy Aerith would froth at the mouth if she saw them. Cloud’s grateful for it, really, especially when they’re in college and always busy with their own things. He isn’t comfortable with many people in the world, and he’s happy to spend time with the very few friends he actually has. Of course, he’d never tell them this, because most of the time, they get on his fucking nerves.

“So, you gonna tell us about the handjob, or what?!”

Like now. Fucking Reno.

“No.” Cloud respects Tifa far too much to give his friends any details. He’s already annoyed that the others even know about the handjob (Zack and his fucking huge mouth). But anything else that happens will stay between him and Tifa (and maybe Aerith, because Aerith knows Tifa better than Tifa knows herself).

“Damn. I’d kill for a handjob from Tifa.”

Cloud’s body reacts without giving his brain a chance to think; he grabs an empty soda can left next to him by Zack, and he chucks it with full force at the back of Reno’s red head. Reno wails, dropping the controller and turning furiously towards Cloud.

“What?! She may be my friend, but even a blind man can see she’s hot as fuck!”

Cloud narrows his eyes, crossing his arms and huffing. Vincent snorts.

“Jealous much? She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“Fuck _off_ , Valentine.”

“Hah!” Zack screams, throwing his hands into the air. “Thanks, Cloud! I won this round!”

Reno whacks Zack over the head with a cushion. “Rematch, bitch!”

Cloud stews in his rage, in his misplaced sense of possessiveness and jealousy. Tifa is not his. She does not belong to him. She’s not his girlfriend, and whatever they have now is, by no means, a committed relationship. They’re only friends. So, Tifa’s perfectly able to give handjobs to whoever else she wants, and really, it’s none of Cloud’s business.

But damn, he fucking wishes she was his. He wishes it so much it aches.

**.**

**.**

**.**

A week and a half have passed since The Handjob, and Tifa, thankfully, acts perfectly normal with Cloud. He tries his best to act normal with her as well, but whenever he catches a glimpse of her hands, those _fucking_ hands, he instantly thinks back to that night, the pleasant but troublesome memory flashing like lights through his mind. He thinks of her eyes, the way they darkened, the way they tore through his skin and his soul, her voice, light but husked, when she asked him to show her how to pleasure him.

No, shut up, stop it, bad Cloud, _no boners in class_.

The twenty-two homework questions had been due and handed in last week, and this week, the professor decides to go over them as a class. Tifa diligently reads through her answers, half of which are hers and half Cloud’s; they had actually managed to finish the assignment that night, but it was difficult with Zack and Aerith’s incessant chatter. Question thirteen Cloud had been on when Tifa decided she wanted a break, and _things began happening_.

He feels the flush boiling in his cheeks. This truly is torture.

They leave the class with yet another intensive assignment from Professor Tucker. Seemingly, this man just loves to see his students suffer. In the hallway, with rushed students trickling around her, Tifa sighs, stopping to lean against the wall.

“This one seems harder than the last.”

“Yeah,” he says, coughing a bit. “Again, fuck that guy.”

“Honestly.” She gives a dry laugh, shaking her head a bit. “Do you wanna get together to do this one, too?”

 _Oh no_. He’s nervous. Very nervous. Immediately, he begins to contemplate her meaning. Is she referring to getting together only to do the homework, or is she insinuating that there’s a chance the homework can lead to _something else_? His heart starts to race, throbbing in his neck, and he clears his throat, trying his best to loosen his stiff shoulders.

“S—sure,” he answers, his voice wavering. “In your dorm?”

Tifa’s kind, sunlit smile morphs into something less kind, something playful, something teasing.

“If you want. Homework doesn’t have to be the only thing we do.”

It takes every ounce of Cloud’s strength not to fall over right here and now.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Okay. It’s fine. Everything is fine. _Completely fine_.

This time, Cloud has made some preparations. He’s wearing a shirt fresh from the laundry, and it smells lovingly of Aerith’s favorite lavender detergent. He has dabbed on some of the very expensive cologne Zack got him for his birthday last year. He’s wearing his special wolf stud earring, for no reason other than the fact that he thinks it makes him look badass.

And, to top it all off, there are condoms in his pocket. Just in case, Zack had snickered as he shoved the box into Cloud’s hold against his will.

Cloud hates that guy.

Aerith is not in her dorm room. Cloud knows this for sure, because well, she came to the apartment a few minutes before Cloud was set to leave. And she disappeared into Zack’s room, locked the door behind her. And Cloud ran out of the apartment as if he was being chased by a fucking serial killer, because he did _not_ want to hear his friends fucking. Again. He’s still scarred from the last time.

Tifa opens the door for him, and he notices that she’s dressed in loose sweats, and he feels relieved, being free of the torment those short shorts brought him last time. She’s smiling sweetly as he steps inside, rids himself of his sneakers. The room smells fresh, clean, floral, and he notices the dampness of her hair, pulled back into a low ponytail; he’s tempted to finger at the strands that kiss the edges of her face, maybe tuck them behind her ear, but he refrains, keeping his hands at his sides instead.

“Our first test is coming up,” she says, settling into her bed, knees tucked under her. Cloud comes next to her, still keeping his distance. Holy Distance, he tells himself, despite the lingering tension in the air, so thick and woven into each and every one of his breaths. He’s feeling hot again, flames bubbling right under his skin.

“Yeah,” he says. “In a couple of weeks.”

“We can study together for it,” she says. “Or, maybe, we can cheat off each other when we take it.”

This tugs a tiny gasp out of him. “Good student Tifa? _Cheating_? I’m appalled.”

He’s playful, teasing. And she’s playful as she shoves his shoulder, giggling a bit.

“Shut up. I need to pass.”

He doesn’t argue with that.

They open their books, and once again, he’s very grateful that she has the textbook. He does look up answers for the questions online, but the textbook answers are more of what the professor is looking for. They split up the many questions again; Cloud does even numbers, and Tifa does odd. She hums a little as she reads an excerpt from the text, tapping her lip with the eraser of her pencil, and Cloud finds himself content just staring at her. Drinking her in, the way the nightlight plays with the deep carmine of her eyes. The way her lips curl when she thinks of something to write down, her hand tucking hair behind her ear, the very act he wants to do to her. Tifa’s so beautiful it aches, and he finds his breath staggered, his chest caving.

She drops her pencil, and she looks at him, and he hadn’t realized he’d been leaning into her. Quickly, he moves back, heat rushing into his cheeks.

“I like your cologne,” she tells him. “What brand is it?”

“Uh, sorry, but I have no idea.” He rubs the nape of his neck. “I—uh—Zack got it for me as a birthday gift last year.”

Tifa sets aside her notebook, adjusting herself to face him, her ankles crossed in front of her. Wonder rests in her eyes, a delicate shine.

“You’ve known Zack for a long time, right?”

Cloud nods. “We’ve been best friends since elementary school.”

Tifa gives him her usual smile, the one that makes him feel at home, the one that makes him think of the sun. “Zack’s great. I think he’s perfect for Aerith.”

“He’s alright,” Cloud grumbles, and this causes Tifa to laugh. “He’s annoying as shit.”

“But he cares about you.” It’s not a question, only an amused fact. Cloud sighs.

“I guess.” Cloud thinks back to years and years ago, when he’d been a child and his mother worried for him, how he never talked to his classmates, never became friends with them nor let them become friends with him. How they’d called him an outcast, a weirdo, a loner, a loser, every child-appropriate insult in the book. But Zack had always been different. He befriended Cloud, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Here they are, thirteen years later. Best friends who live together. He doesn’t know what he’d do without Zack.

But he doesn’t need to bore Tifa with all this nonsense. Nothing about her demeanor tells him that she’s disinterested in him; in fact, it’s the opposite, the way she looks at him, leans a bit forward, has set aside the homework just to talk to him. It makes his heart swell and birth butterflies that flutter in his abdomen.

“He’s an idiot,” Cloud says instead. “The birthday he got me the cologne was also the birthday he almost got me killed.”

Tifa gives a shocked but very enthralled laugh. “What?! How?!”

It’s a long story, and at the time, it was horrible, and Cloud was ridden in panic, anxiety, and fear. Now, as he looks back, it’s a pleasant memory that has Tifa bursting with laughter. He laughs a tiny bit as well, remembering Zack’s frantic yelling. They’d been drunk and lost in Midgar’s Sector 5, deep, deep in the city. One bad encounter with a gang member later (thanks to Zack’s drunken stupidity), and they were being chased down the road by angry, burly men with knives. The only reason they’d been able to escape was because they hid in a nightclub.

“Oh my god.” Tifa shakes her head, her lips still pulled into a smile. “You guys got really fucking lucky.”

Cloud leans against the wall, and despite his laughter and delight at recalling the memory, he’s still kind of pissed at Zack. “Yeah, yeah we did.”

“If anything like that happens when he’s with Aerith, I’m gonna have to kill him.”

“I’d help you.”

Tifa laughs, and the topic is dropped. Silence descends, but it isn’t uncomfortable, and Cloud relishes in it. It’s easy talking to Tifa, he thinks. He’s never been as close to her as he is with his other friends, but right now, conversing with her does not make him nauseous with anxiety. He’s doing okay, he thinks, for the socially inept bastard he is.

“Are you hungry?” Tifa asks, grabbing his attention. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any food right now, so we’d have to order out.”

“No, I’m good,” Cloud says quickly. “Thanks.”

Tifa nods, smiling. “I’m really glad you’re here, Cloud.”

Huh. _Huh_.

“I mean,” Tifa splutters, immediately backtracking, “I like spending time with you! Is that weird?”

Cloud doesn’t think that’s weird. What he does think is weird is the heart attack he’s having right now. Tifa Lockhart, the most beautiful and perfect angel in the world, his year-long crush, just said she _likes spending time with him_. He’ll never recover from this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop thinking about it. He’ll fail this semester because all he’ll be able to think about is Tifa.

Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa _Tifaaaaaaaa._

“N—no,” he stammers, coughing a bit. “I, um, like spending time with y—you too.”

Her gleeful grin is so wide it breaks her face in half.

“Next time, we don’t have to do homework or study.” She looks at the textbook on the bed. “We can just, you know, hang out.”

_Oh my god Tifa wants to hang out with him._

“S—sure.”

This may not be a handjob, but Cloud, genuinely, feels like the luckiest asshole in the fucking world right now.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud thinks.

Tifa likes spending time with him. She told him this outright, those exact words. And yet, Cloud is still contemplating their meaning. What if she said that because she likes him? But what if she doesn’t like him? What if she just wants him for sex? He’d be okay with that, he thinks, because dear god he’d die a happy man if he got to lose his virginity to Tifa, the girl of his fucking dreams. Perhaps what worries Cloud the most is that he’s unaware of Tifa’s intentions. Knowing her for a year tells him that she’d never, ever try to hurt him intentionally. Tifa’s painfully good to all her friends, and Aerith never fails to remind him of that fact.

This leads to another problem. What if Tifa doesn’t return his feelings when he confesses them? What if he ruins their friendship? He’d cry for months if he lost her as a friend. Sure, he feels upset that she’s not his romantically, but is it worth the possibility of losing her altogether? Part of him is deathly afraid to find out.

Communicate, Vincent says. Fuck that guy. What if communicating leads to him losing Tifa entirely?

Then, maybe, it’s for the best? No, no, Tifa’s not like that. If he does confess his feelings and she doesn’t reciprocate them, she’s not cruel enough to cut him off completely. At least, he believes she isn’t. She’s good to all her friends.

But he realizes another terrible fact: he doesn’t actually know her all that well. He only knows the pretty, polished, perfect version of her she shows to her friends. And that’s it.

Cloud groans into a cushion, writhing on the couch. Aerith is still here; she slept over last night, and now, she’s curled into the love seat, swathed in one of Zack’s shirts. Zack is in the kitchen, making breakfast.

“Are you having a crisis?”

Cloud only moans into the cushion, unwilling to respond to Aerith. The answer is rather obvious, he thinks.

“Listen, I’m Tifa’s best friend,” Aerith begins, and Cloud throws himself forward, the cushion dropping to the floor. “If you tell her you like her, and she doesn’t feel the same way, she will absolutely let you down gently. I’ve seen her do that plenty of times before.”

Okay. Sounds good.

“And don’t worry about losing her as a friend. Tifa’s not gonna just drop you; she values you as a friend, you know.”

Tifa values him. _She values him_.

“You should talk to her,” Aerith says. “Be open with her.”

“Don’t listen to her, bro!” Zack yells maniacally from the kitchen, waving around a spatula. “She’s just saying that so she can win the bet!”

“That’s not the only reason why!” Aerith defends. “I truly care about Cloud’s crisis!”

“Not enough to _not_ make money off it,” Cloud grunts. Aerith throws a cushion at him.

“I’m trying to help you!”

Talk to Tifa, Aerith says. Easier said than done, of course. Cloud sucks at communication. He doesn’t know how he’d even begin to talk to Tifa about this stuff. Just the thought of it has nervousness prickling at the tips of his fingers.

Something tells him to apologize to his mom the next time he calls her. He very much is not being a diligent student if he’s mulling over this shit every minute of every day.

**.**

**.**

**.**

God. Fuck. Okay. This is bad. _Wee woo wee woo_. Police, help. This is an emergency. Cloud has a big, big problem.

 _Tifa looks really good_.

This is the first outing they’ve all had together since the semester started. It’s nothing special, only dinner at a restaurant with some drinking. But Tifa blew him away when he first saw her tonight, and he would have seriously fallen over if Zack wasn’t behind him to steady him.

 _Tight_. Tight corset top, cut low at the neck and stopping right at the belly button. Tight skirt with tights underneath, high heels and red painted on her lips, hair gliding down her back in a waterfall of black silk; Cloud’s mouth went dry, and he could not stop staring, no matter what he did. Now, next to her at the table, he still can’t stop staring, catching himself stealing longing, lingering glances every chance he gets.

She looks so beautiful it hurts him. And the exposed skin, the way the fabric molds to her every dip and curve, the way her pretty, manicured hand lingers close to his on the table, has him feeling dizzy, hot and smothered as he thinks of a time where her hand did not-so-innocent things to him.

He wonders if she wore this outfit on purpose, just to torture him, like those shorts. If she did, it’s fucking working.

Zack and Reno are already drunk off the pitchers of sangrias they’d gotten. Yuffie and Aerith are nearly there, and Vincent just looks disgusted at all of them. Tifa has a cocktail the color of her eyes, vibrant and sparkling red, and she takes a sip of it between laughs. Zack and Reno are obnoxious when sober, but while drunk, they are insufferable.

“I could fuckin’ murder you in a fight!” Reno screams.

“You’re a fuckin’ twig!” Zack screams back. “I’d demolish you!”

“There’s only one way to find out!” Yuffie cheers. “Take this to the parking lot!”

Reno even goes to get up, before he’s pulled back down by Vincent’s responsible hand.

“Shut up,” Vincent mutters. “The truth is, the two of you _combined_ wouldn’t be able to handle _me_ in a fight.”

More yelling. Their voices are all jumbled together, and Cloud’s head begins to throb. Tifa’s laughing at the scene, and he’d bathe happily in the sound if there wasn’t a more pressing matter.

Her hand. On his _thigh_.

He looks at her with wide eyes. She seems indifferent, still paying attention to the argument happening in front of her. She doesn’t look at him, but her hand crawls just an inch higher on his thigh, and he chokes on air, his throat closing around a lump. He wants to ask her what she’s doing. But he also doesn’t want her to stop. At all, despite how much he must look like a tomato right now.

Finally, she meets his eyes, and the irises are smudged in a dark ash, wanting, lusting. The same look she had given him during The Handjob. But right now, it’s infinitely worse, because they’re in _public_ with their friends.

“You look really nice tonight,” she whispers to him, her lips curled into a nefarious smile. She comes a bit closer, her head nearly dipping into his neck. “You smell really good too.”

Just those words alone, hushed but dipped in desire, have him sweating, heat rushing into his core. Her hand lingers on his thigh, an unmoving threat, a hint of what is to come. He still never got to pay her back that night, never got to pleasure her like he wanted.

Oh god. Oh _no_. This is bad. This is _really bad_.

Drunk Aerith calls Tifa’s name, and Tifa immediately turns to her, giving Cloud a chance to breathe. He doesn’t know what to do. They’re with their friends right now. In a restaurant. A public setting. But the seconds tick by, and he grows increasingly more flustered, the tent in his jeans becoming harder and harder. Tifa’s hand is so close to where he’d like her to touch, but that’d be _wrong_. They’re in public. That’s _indecent_.

Of course, that doesn’t matter when her hand brushes _ever so lightly_ over his erection. And he jolts, his knee hitting the table. He hisses, and Tifa draws her hand back, biting her lip to hide her laugh.

God, she’s teasing him. She’s tormenting him. He feels like he’s going to die.

Cloud may be an inexperienced, awkward, virgin loser, but he’s never wanted anything more than Tifa right at this moment. Maybe he and Tifa should leave early, make some excuse about not feeling well—

“Aye, Cloud!” Zack yells happily. He slides over a fresh, cold bottle of beer, the condensation licking at Cloud’s hand as he catches it. “You’re not drinkin’ nearly enough!”

“Maybe we should hit some bars after this!” Aerith helpfully offers, and the entire table reacts happily to that.

Meanwhile, Cloud groans to himself. He loves his friends, loves spending time with them. But _not_ when he’s fucking hot and bothered for Tifa.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Instead of a bar, the group decides to attend a party that one of Reno’s friends is having on campus. Cloud has never been a fan of college parties, was always full of misery and dread whenever Zack had dragged him to one last year. But this one is not so bad, he thinks. The music is good, loud enough that it booms within his sternum. The house is not packed to the brim with bodies; the crowd is modest, some drinking, some dancing, some snorting white powder in the corner. Most of them are just sitting around, talking. There are snacks in the kitchen, and Zack and Reno go for those first. Vincent stops to talk to one of his friends, and Aerith and Yuffie decide to join the dance floor.

Meanwhile, Cloud and Tifa linger near the bottom of a stairwell, observing the crowd. Her hand crawls into his, lacing their fingers together.

“Upstairs?”

He nods so quickly it’s embarrassing.

On the second floor, there aren’t any party goers, not that Cloud can see. There are some closed doors that may house some couples doing bad things to each other. Like Cloud and Tifa. But they don’t even go into a bedroom. Tifa backs him into an open corner, far enough from the party that they’ll have some privacy but still very, _very_ in sight and exposed.

It’s mad, how he doesn’t even care that he and Tifa may be seen. Perhaps the danger aspect eggs him on even further, and he wants to experience a release tinged in desperation, haste, and the thrill of being caught. But he wants to focus more on her, her pleasure, giving back what she gave him that other night.

Her kisses are full of force and fervor but still sweet. She tastes like lipstick, the slight, bitter fruitiness of the one cocktail she had earlier in the night. His hands linger at his side, nervous and unsure only until she pulls back, panting with swollen lips.

“You can touch me,” she says. “Touch me.”

He complies, but he’s still tentative. He begins with her back, smoothing palms down, his fingers riding the curve of her spine. Then he reaches skin uncovered by the corset, warm and soft, and his hands stay there, molded against her hips. She kisses him harder, tongue and teeth and biting, and he groans lightly as she nips at his bottom lip, then suckles the pain away.

“Cloud, please,” she moans, and god, _dear god_ , that’s something he has only heard in his late-night fantasies. Part of him believes he is in a fantasy, stuck in a hazy dreamland, mapping the curves of a Tifa who doesn’t actually exist. But she does; she’s real and in front of him, begging him to touch her.

How the fuck did he get so lucky?

His hand sneaks under her skirt. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but she seems to tense up, in anticipation, maybe. His fingertips flirt at her inner thighs, blocked off by the nylon of her tights. He gets his hand under them, his fingers now facing dampened lace.

She’s wet. Very much so, and one little poke of his finger has her jolting, mewling. He’s inexperienced with this, but he watches her reactions closely, what makes her fidget and moan. Gently, he moves aside the damp fabric, and he’s met with hot, inflamed skin.

Oh god. _Oh my god_. He’s actually _fingering_ _Tifa_.

“T—tell me,” he murmurs, and it’d sound hotter if he didn’t fucking stutter, “how to touch you.”

She’s pleased, very pleased. Her fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand a bit higher. He feels something, a hard nub, and one little brush has her jaw going slack, her eyes glazing over.

“Right there,” she very nearly whimpers. “Touch me there.”

He does. He rubs at her clit with his wet fingers, and Tifa begins to squirm against him, her hands resting on his shoulders for leverage. He decides to quicken his pace, wondering what that’ll do, and her reaction is welcoming. She moans his name, hiking her leg around his waist, spreading herself a bit wider for him.

“Just like that,” she breathes. “God, _yes_.”

He rubs at her just how she likes it, fast and hard, and he wonders how his fingers would feel inside her, how his cock would feel inside her. He shudders at the thought, those hot, wet walls, clenching around him—

Tifa comes with a long whine of his name, her manicured fingers digging into his shoulders. She trembles against him, her thighs closing around his hand. But he keeps touching her, working her past her high, until she’s cowering away from him, her breathing deep and labored. And he thinks she looks so pretty like this, flushed and sweaty, her eyes dull in a sated fire, satisfied from his touch alone.

She pulls his hand out from under her skirt, and she brings his wet fingers to her lips. One by one, she licks his fingers clean of her, suckling on the tips of them.

He very nearly comes at the sight of that.

“Where are you guys?!”

The voice is distinctly Yuffie, and it’s getting closer. Tifa lurches away from him, rushing to fix her skirt. Cloud turns to hide the tent in his jeans from Yuffie; he’s so _fucking_ annoyed. Why do they always get interrupted while doing these things?

“There you are!” Yuffie is drunk. Very, very drunk, and she stumbles into Tifa, not even coherent enough to walk straight. Tifa holds the other girl up, slinging her arm over her shoulder.

“How much did you drink?” Tifa asks, her tone scolding. She scrunches her nose at a whiff of Yuffie’s breath, which, is no doubt, rank. “God, okay, let’s get you home.”

“But I don’t wanna go home!” Yuffie whines like the brat she is. Tifa doesn’t take no for an answer, and she begins descending the stairs. Over her shoulder, she throws a glance at Cloud.

“Sorry,” she says, a little cheeky, very apologetic. “Next time.”

Next time, Cloud thinks. Sure. That’s fine. Next time.

But how will next time solve the problem he has right now?

**.**

**.**

**.**


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hard :(
> 
> thank u for the support i love u guys so much

_Tifa’s coming over._

He’s been running around all day, cleaning up the entire apartment, because Zack is nothing less than a slob. He’s sitting on the couch, elbow-deep in a bag of chips, and Cloud lifts his legs in order to vacuum the carpet properly.

“You’re overreacting,” Zack says, mouth full of chip. “Aerith comes over all the time, and she doesn’t care if the apartment’s a mess.”

“This is _Tifa_ , not Aerith,” Cloud grunts. Zack jolts.

“What’re you tryin’ to say?!”

“That Aerith’s standards are painfully low.”

Zack merely shrugs. “You know what, I can’t argue with that.”

Cloud rolls his eyes. When he’s done with the vacuum, he goes to wipe down the coffee table, and he scrubs restlessly at sticky rings left behind by Zack’s many drinks. Seriously, they need to clean this place more often; it’s fucking filthy, and he doesn’t need Tifa knowing that he’s a barbarian. If she’s gracing them with her godly presence, the apartment better fucking be clean. She deserves that much. Even though she’s only coming to study for the World Cultures exam they have coming up. It’s not even a month into the semester, and Professor Tucker is already giving them a test. Fucking asshole, Cloud thinks.

“If y’all are gonna fuck,” Zack begins, and Cloud immediately turns to glare at him, “tell me now, so I can leave. I don’t need to hear that shit.”

“What about all the times I had to listen to you and Aerith fucking?” Cloud is honestly so offended. “Earplugs don’t fucking work when you’re _that_ loud.”

Torture, Cloud thinks. He winces at the thought. Zack only throws his head back in a hollering laugh, unapologetic and showing no remorse.

“And we’re _not_ going to fuck,” Cloud grumbles, and he tries to sound sure. But honestly, he really can’t. He’s barely spoken to Tifa ever since The Fingering Incident a couple nights ago. They have some kind of Thing going. Not a relationship, nowhere near one, but a friendship where they occasionally fondle each other’s genitals. That’s fine. That’s totally fine. Both Vincent and Aerith told him to communicate with Tifa, to cement where they stand, but Cloud still hasn’t worked up the nerve. No matter Aerith’s reassurance, the anxiety won’t leave him, plagues his being every time he even thinks of Tifa.

He wants more than just what they have right now. He’s even selfish, because he wants all of her. He wants her heart, just like how she has his. But he can’t handle the risk of asking for more, is too afraid to deal with the potential consequences. He wants more, but he won’t gamble with what he already has. He and Tifa, friends but also not quite, studying together, laughing together, doing bad things to each other; it’s fine, Cloud thinks.

It’s totally fine. Soon, he’ll convince himself of this.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Aerith comes with Tifa as well, and the girls bring Zack and Cloud their favorite Chinese takeout. Zack nearly bursts into tears when he crushes Aerith into a hug, and when Aerith tells him that it was Tifa’s idea, he goes to crush her into a tearful hug, as well. Tifa only laughs, saying it’s not a big deal.

“I feel bad that I’m never able to feed Cloud anything good whenever he comes over.”

God, fuck, why is she so _nice_? Why is she so wonderful? Cloud doesn’t understand how a human being can be so lovely.

Turns out, Aerith and Zack have exams to study for themselves, and the four friends are splayed about the living room, in the middle of a mess of books, papers, notebooks, and pencils. Of course, Zack and Aerith are doing more chatting than actual studying, and Tifa’s diligent only at first. Then, she falls deep into Aerith and Zack’s heated discussion about the best restaurants near campus. And Cloud only listens, his head low and in his notes. He’s comfortable with these people; hell, Zack’s been his best friend for thirteen years, and only after a single year has Aerith become like a sister to him. And Tifa—well, she’s Tifa. Someone Cloud always likes talking to.

But right now, for some reason, he feels like an antisocial child again. An outcast. A weirdo. A loner. A loser. He feels disconnected, like he’s here but not here all at once. Anything he thinks of to use as supplement to the conversation he scraps, because he feels like it’s stupid or unimportant. And by the time he works up the courage to say anything, the others have already moved on.

It’s stupid. Cloud’s stupid, wondering why he feels so alone when his closest friends are right here, next to him.

“Right, Cloud?”

Tifa’s looking at him, and it’s her smile, a sun that chases away the brewing storm of anxiety within him. Tifa’s smile feels like peace, like home, and Cloud wants to fall into it, wants to fall into her and drown.

“Huh?”

“Laguna’s on Squall Street sucks, right?” Tifa asks him. “Zack won’t listen to me.”

“Because it doesn’t suck!” Zack turns to Cloud, looking too heated for a conversation about restaurants. “Cloud, bro, you’re on my side, right?! We’ve gone there so many times!”

And Cloud, with his heart swelling in his chest, blooming into something soft and warm and lovely, smiles, a slight ghost on his mouth.

“It does suck.”

Zack wails in distress, and Aerith laughs, and Tifa yells, “I told you so!”

Cloud looks at Tifa, how her profile is silhouetted in pale lamp light, how her fringe tickles the tips of her lashes, how pink her cheeks and lips are. He stares at her, and he can’t stop, can’t tear his eyes away from her.

She doesn’t realize how much her little acts of kindness mean to him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

That exam wasn’t too bad, he thinks. Or, well, it could have been bad if Tifa wasn’t there. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he would have done without her. Every other question found him leaning over, whispering to her as quietly as possible, begging her for the answer. And she, after keeping watch for the professor (who was uninterested and at his desk the entire time), gave him every answer he needed. An angel, truly. They studied for this together, but Tifa’s a whole lot smarter than he is, and she actually pays attention to the lectures. Unlike Cloud, who spends most of the lectures either daydreaming, staring at Tifa, or daydreaming _about_ Tifa.

When they walked out of the lecture hall, she’d let out a huge yawn, her eyes tearing at the edges. “I need some coffee. Do you wanna go get some?”

Of course, he agreed immediately, because why wouldn’t he want to go get coffee with Tifa?

He now finds himself at the campus café, seated at a small table in the corner, Tifa in front of him. Her form is bathed in late afternoon light, the setting sun bleeding into her eyes. She drinks an iced macchiato with a lot of caramel, because she likes it sweet, she tells him. He drinks a normal iced coffee with some milk and sugar; he doesn’t really care for too much sweetness, he tells her. She tells him it’s just like him, and she giggles.

“Hey,” she says, and her tone takes on a tinge of seriousness. Just a tinge, but he picks it up right away, and he’s alert. “I have to ask you something.”

He nods, his undivided attention in her grasp.

“Are you…okay with what we’re doing?”

His eyes blow wide, and fuck, okay, she’s doing it. She’s actually doing it. Communicating like an adult. Something he’s been unable to do. Now that the choice has been taken from him, and he’s being forced to talk, he becomes nervous, his palms clammy and his pulse rate rising. What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t know.

_I’m in love with you, but yeah, I’m cool with what we’re doing now._

Stupid. Stupid Cloud.

“Like, being friends,” she elaborates, and the way her fingers agitatedly play with her straw tells him that she’s a bit nervous, as well. “Being friends, but doing, um, _that stuff_ too. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and he tries to be nonchalant about it. “Yeah, I’m fine with it. Are you?”

“Um, y—yeah!” Her face twists into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine with it too. Just tell me if you don’t want to do it anymore.”

He nods. “You too.”

She nods. “I will.”

Silence falls, and it’s full of unspoken words, full of a tension Cloud hasn’t really ever felt when with Tifa. She bites at her lip, avoiding his eyes, taking quick sips of her coffee. They both said it was fine. It’s fine. He told her it’s fine. He likes where they are right now. He doesn’t want to take it further out of fear of losing her for good.

So, he’ll deal with it. He’ll pretend it’s fine for as long as he wants. He’ll deal with it.

Tifa, his but not his all at once. So close but so _fucking_ far.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It’s become a routine, doing World Cultures homework together. On Wednesday nights, Cloud usually finds himself in Tifa’s dorm room; sometimes Aerith is there, and sometimes she isn’t. Tonight she’s not here; she’s out attending some event on campus. It’s just Cloud and Tifa, in the room, alone and mulling over questions that are extremely engaging and detailed for no fucking reason.

But tonight feels very different from all the other nights. Cloud’s nervousness is palpable, thick and heavy on his tongue, but the root of it is different. Usually he’d be nervous just at being next to Tifa, alone in her room with her. But right now, what’s worrying him the most is that none of Tifa’s smiles in the past couple of hours have been genuine.

He likes to think he knows her. Kind of. He may not know everything about her, but he can recognize her sunny smile anywhere. And it’s absent tonight, hidden behind a plain façade; she doesn’t talk much, either. They’re drowned in a silence with a relief that only comes from the shuffling of papers, the turning of textbook and notebook pages.

He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t help but think it’s his fault. Does it have anything to do with the conversation they had at the coffee shop? Does she not like his presence anymore? He doesn’t know, but inwardly he’s fretting, his mind lost in a wild tangle of worried thoughts. On the outside, he tries his best to remain normal as to not startle her.

“Um,” he begins, his voice crass. She looks at him, blinking a bit. “I, uh, need help with number twelve.”

Tifa turns to the textbook, looking at the mentioned question. She flips back a few pages, and her pretty, manicured finger points to a certain excerpt.

“It should be here,” she says, and she hands him the textbook. He nods.

“Thanks.”

Tifa says nothing more, and Cloud takes a deep, deep breath. He’s going to do it. Communicate, Aerith and Vincent said. He can do that. He’s an adult. He should be able to communicate.

He just wants her to be okay.

“Are you…” He falters a bit, losing his nerve. “Um, are you okay? You’re…pretty quiet.”

She gives him a smile, and he doesn’t know why, but it hurts him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “Are you feeling okay?”

Tifa considers the question, her fingers twiddling with the pencil in her hand. She does not look at him when she responds.

“I’m just a little tired.”

Even Cloud can see through a lie like that. But he doesn’t feel like it’s his place to challenge her. So, he just nods.

“I can leave, if you wanna rest.”

“No!”

Tifa’s eyes are wide, and her reaction surprises him a bit.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he wishes she’d stop apologizing. “I, um…do you mind staying? For a little while?”

“Sure,” he says, and he didn’t have to think twice. Tifa needs him. Or, she needs someone’s company; he’s not entirely sure. But she wants him to stay, and he will. For as long as she needs. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t really want to pry, but her normal, perfect, angelic demeanor has cracked, laying bare the weaknesses, the vulnerability. Tifa’s human, just like he is. Flaws and worries and sadness. She’s incredibly smart and kind and beautiful, and he holds her on the highest pedestal, like she’s a deity.

But Tifa’s human, just like he is. And humans have their limits.

She goes to lie down, shoving aside her books. Cloud adjusts a bit to make space for her, but she only follows him, her head coming to rest into his lap.

It’s not the time, but he can’t help his emotions, the lovesick little boy in him fretting and panicking. Tifa, the love of his life, using his thigh as a pillow. He worries that she may be uncomfortable; if he had known, he would have worn sweats instead of jeans. But she doesn’t seem to mind, seems content with her position. His hands linger about her head, floating and wanting but pulling back. Would she like it if he stroked her head? Ran his fingers through her hair? He doesn’t know, but he’s greedy for her.

He decides to place his hand on her head. She’s not opposed to it, even lets her eyes flutter closed.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and every apology breaks him a little further. He wonders why she always apologizes, who hurt her and made her feel insecure about her emotions. He doesn’t judge her. He will never judge her.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, and he’s firm. A faint smile plays at the edges of her lips, a hint of sunshine, a hint of warmth and peace.

“Thanks. For being here.”

He’ll always be there, he thinks. He wants to be there for her. Wants to cradle her when she’s sad, wants to be her support. He wants to be her everything, and he wants her to become his everything, as well. Cloud wants all of her. There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he doesn’t know how to say.

In the end, he remains silent. He only strokes her hair, ever so gentle. The strands are soft, like rivers of black silk between his fingers; she snuggles a bit closer to him, turning to her side, getting comfortable.

He lets her rest, hoping his presence is enough of a comfort to her.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Aerith comes a couple hours later, when Tifa is fast asleep. Cloud hasn’t moved an inch out of the fear of waking her; he’s been sitting here, scrolling aimlessly on his smartphone, the homework they’d been doing sitting undone on the bed next to them. Aerith, as she comes inside, gets ready to greet them happily, but Cloud, hurriedly, tells her to be quiet.

“Oh, sorry,” she whispers, creeping quietly towards her bed to drop her purse. “She fell asleep?”

Cloud nods. “She was, uh, kind of sad.”

“What?” The surprise that flashes through Aerith’s features tells Cloud that this is news to her. “She was sad? But she was fine when I left.”

Aerith’s frown creases deeply in her brow. She looks guilty.

“I wouldn’t have gone if I knew she was upset.” She walks towards Tifa’s bed. “Thanks, Cloud. You should go.”

Right. It’s nearly midnight; he should go. He doesn’t know how to slip away from Tifa without waking her; she’s using him as a pillow, after all. But as he moves, he sees that she isn’t stirring at all. She’s out like a light.

“She’s a boulder when she sleeps,” Aerith says. “You’re fine.”

Cloud gets up, and he holds her neck gingerly as he tugs her pillow forward, placing it under her head. Then he moves her notebook, textbook, and pencil, and he wraps her in her blanket, tucking the edge of it under her chin. He doesn’t know why, but he lingers at her side, looking at her, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes spider out into thin shadows on her cheeks. He hopes with all he has that she’s having pleasant dreams, that she wakes up and forgets everything that ever troubled her.

Behind him, Aerith snickers as quietly as she can. “You are _so_ in love with her.”

Cloud frowns. It’s not like that’s news to anyone.

**.**

**.**

**.**

After calculus, Cloud walks into the campus café, desperate for some caffeine. He’d been up all last night studying for his calculus exam, which he, no doubt, absolutely failed. Whatever. Fuck calculus. Now his eyebags have eyebags, and he’s certain he looks incredibly haggard right now. What he wouldn’t do to be able to go back to his apartment and take a very long nap.

He gets his iced coffee, the first bitter sip like a miracle in his mouth. He’s about to leave the café before something catches his eye. Or someone. Tifa. That someone is Tifa, and she’s standing near the back of the café, holding a drink, no doubt her favorite iced macchiato with caramel. It’s not Tifa who concerns Cloud. No, it’s the person with her, talking to her.

_Rufus Fucking Shinra_.

Cloud hates that guy. Well, he’s never done anything to Cloud specifically; hell, Cloud hasn’t even said a single word to the guy. But he hates him anyway. It’s obvious that Rufus Shinra has a _thing_ for Tifa; the Spring Ball flower-giving incident last semester was proof enough. It seems that he still hasn’t given up, even though Tifa has been rejecting him for months now.

His smug smirk, his Balenciaga shirt, the way he carries himself, thinking he’s higher and mightier than everyone else; god, he pisses Cloud off. And Cloud’s even more infuriated at the fact that Rufus Shinra is standing close to Tifa, so close that his chest nearly brushes hers, and she’s forced to cower against the wall. Who does he think he is, invading Tifa’s space like that? She looks uncomfortable, and Cloud can’t bear to watch the scene anymore.

He isn’t the confrontational type. Quite the opposite actually; Cloud never does anything really. Just lets things happen, never gets involved, never speaks up. But right now, he walks with purpose towards Rufus Shinra’s back, and Tifa shoots him a happy, nearly relieved look over Rufus’ shoulder, the crimson of her eyes beginning to sparkle.

“Cloud! Hi!” She slips away from Rufus, comes to Cloud’s side and hooks her fingers onto his elbow. It’s not the time for him to dwell on how nice her touch feels, her soft fingers against his skin, but he does anyway, because he’s Cloud, and he’s whipped for Tifa. “Sorry, Rufus, I have to go.”

Tifa begins tugging Cloud away, towards the exit, and Cloud doesn’t get to say anything. But he is able to shoot Rufus Shinra what he hopes is a scathing glare, one that’d make him drop dead if looks could kill. Rufus Shinra glares at him right back.

Hmph. Asshole.

Tifa sighs once they’re out of the café, breathes in the fresh, crisp autumn air.

“Are you okay?” Cloud asks. “It looked like he was bothering you.”

“Oh, no!” Tifa defends, laughing a bit. Cloud doesn’t really believe her. “Nothing like that! He, just…”

She trails off, scratching at her head, like she’s struggling to piece together the words.

“He, um, likes me,” she finally reveals. Suddenly, she looks so small, like her frame caves in on itself. “He keeps trying to ask me out.”

A question burns on Cloud’s tongue, and he spits it out before he has the chance to reconsider.

“And you…said no?”

“Yes,” Tifa says, laughing a tiny bit. Cloud hasn’t felt this relieved in years. “I don’t like him.”

He wonders why. Rufus Shinra is rich. Handsome. Smart. Powerful. Surely, he’s good enough for a goddess like Tifa. He’s pursuing her so strongly; no doubt he’d keep her very happy and satisfied in a relationship. Cloud wonders what compels Tifa to continuously refuse him when he, despite Cloud’s judgments, seems like an okay guy who’s worthy of her.

One thing Cloud knows for sure: he isn’t worthy of Tifa. No, he doesn’t deserve her. And he’s selfish, very selfish for wanting her as much as he does.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It’s haunting him, why Tifa won’t go for Rufus Shinra when he’s literally throwing himself at her. She said that she doesn’t like him, but Cloud wonders why; anyone would like Rufus Shinra. Which leads Cloud to another horrific question…

Does Tifa like _him_? Does Tifa like Cloud?

No, no, no that’s impossible. Why the fuck would she like him? A shy, awkward, antisocial loser like him? They’re only friends. Yeah, friends. She only likes him physically. That’s what they agreed on, staying where they are right now, being friends but still doing sexual things with the other. There’s no love involved, no feelings, none of that; they are friends. Cloud’s smitten with her, absolutely head over heels in love with her, but it’s not the same for her, because why in the world would she like Cloud when there are so many other better, hotter, richer men on campus?

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t like you,” Vincent says. “You’re handsome, dedicated, and kindhearted.”

Aw. Wow. Cloud’s chest is swelling. Vincent can be really great sometimes.

“You’re just fucking stupid sometimes, but that’s okay.”

Never mind. Fuck Vincent.

“Like I said,” Vincent continues, crossing his arms. He gets cut off by a very loud scream from Zack, and his expression twists into one of annoyance. “Communicate with her. Just ask her. You’re acting like an immature child, you know. We’re in college.”

Cloud frowns. He’s bitter, mostly because he knows that Vincent is right. Maybe it’s time Cloud grows a pair and actually tells Tifa about his feelings, actually asks her whether or not something more can happen between them. Just the thought of it has him coiling in despair; he doesn’t want to do it.

The front door shoots open, and immediately, boys’ night at the apartment is crashed. It’s not like anyone minds; Zack and Reno holler in excitement at the sight of Aerith, Tifa, and Yuffie. They’re especially excited because Aerith is holding two packs of beers, while Tifa and Yuffie hold bags and bags of food.

Cloud didn’t expect to get drunk tonight. But now, he’s considering it; maybe, the alcohol impairing his system will aid him in his talk with Tifa.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tifa looks _really pretty_.

She always does. But right now, she’s particularly beautiful. As the days bury themselves deeper and deeper into fall, the weather outside grows crisp, even bone-shuddering at night. Tifa wears a simple hooded sweatshirt, too big and swallowing her little, lithe body. She wears leggings and her hair in a high, messy ponytail, the strands that have escaped curtaining her jaw. She’s casual. Comfortable and casual, and yet, to Cloud, she looks like the most gorgeous thing in existence.

He wants to blame it on the alcohol, but really, he’d be like this sober, as well. He’s always like this for Tifa.

The buzz is pleasant in his ears, the aftertaste of the beer bitter and acrid in his throat. He feels like there are fires clawing at his esophagus, feels his world consume him in too-bright colors, too-loud noises. But he’s fine. Totally fine. Totally _not_ drunk. Yeah. Of course.

But Tifa’s a _little_ drunk, giggles against his lips as she brings him in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Somehow, the alcohol in his system heightens his senses, and he’s drowned in Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, the sweet vanilla of her scent, the softness of her fingers in his hair. Ever since the beers were opened, she’d been giving him _The Eyes_ , the darkly lusted eyes, her lashes fluttering and her thigh _oh so innocently_ brushing his. Cloud was all too conscious of the proximity of their friends, Zack, Reno, and Yuffie, on the floor and yelling over Mario Kart. Aerith and Vincent, immersed in what looked like a heated discussion on the loveseat. Even during the chaos Cloud was fully immersed in Tifa, the promise of her hands, the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

When she had enough of waiting, she’d taken his willing hand and pulled him into his bedroom, the hollering whistles of their friends following them.

He has no time to dwell on the utter disaster that is his bedroom. Maybe if he’d known Tifa would be in here tonight, he would have tidied up. But it doesn’t seem like she cares about any of that as she crawls into his lap, angling her head to kiss him deeper. She tastes sweet, and the faraway bitterness of the beer she had nearly drives him manic.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she whispers against his mouth.

And there’s not much they can do, with their friends outside. But Cloud doesn’t actually care that much about his friends. So what if he won’t hear the end of this later? It’s fine. All he can focus on is Tifa, on his lap, the warmth of her against his erection. The normal anxiety gives way to desire, and all he wants is her, more of her, her touch, her skin, her kisses. She winds her tongue with his, going in deep to taste, his lips feeling pleasantly bruised. His hands rest on her hips, feeling brave when they sneak under her sweatshirt to brush against her bare skin. She rolls her hips against his like slow torture, and he jolts under her, shuddering a bit against her mouth.

“Tifa, I—” His voice falters in his throat, and she feels so _nice_ against him, her chest molding into his.

She moans a bit into his shoulder, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses, up the taut curve of his neck, down the slope of his jaw. His hands get bolder, and it’s probably because of the alcohol, but he palms her breasts, and he’s instantly flooded with relief at the action. _God_ , he’s been wanting to do this for _so long_. He’d been struck breathless and enchanted by her appearance when he had first met her, because no woman should be allowed to be so _beautiful_. But her body, that was what his mind clung to during his late-night activities, his hand stroking and stroking as he thought of her, naked, all curves and thick thighs and those _fucking_ breasts, bouncing as she rolled her hips onto him.

He’d even had a dream of her nestling his cock between her breasts. Ever since then, he became what Zack calls a Boob Guy.

Tifa’s nipples pucker immediately under his touch, and when she gasps, her fingers coming to wrap around one of his wrists, he starts rubbing the pebbled skin between two of his fingers, drinking in her reaction. She’s flushed and sweaty, the roll of her hips almost urgent against his. Cloud’s hard, painfully so, and with the layers of fabric between them, it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough, but the pleasure bubbles in his head, dizzying him as Tifa rocks back and forth, rubbing herself against him.

It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do, as his body climbs desperately towards release. He watches her move into him, the way her lips part around a breath of his name. Her leggings are dark and damp with her arousal, like his sweatpants, and he knows he’ll have to change them after. But that doesn’t matter, because Tifa goes faster, at a rhythm that suits her, rubbing herself just the right way against him as she chants his name, her thighs beginning to shudder.

“Cloud, Cloud, _oh my god_ —”

Tifa comes with a long whine, and he rushes to cover her mouth with his hand. The thought of their friends hearing them is both horrifying and arousing, and watching Tifa unravel over him, the wetness gathering between their bodies, the way her hips grind lazily as she drags out her high, tips him over the edge. He falls apart, his mouth clinging to her name as he jerks, trembles, makes a mess of himself under her. The remains of the bliss sing prettily through his veins, and he slouches against the headboard, struggling to catch his breath.

Tifa drops a quick kiss onto his lips before moving off of him, and instantly, he misses her presence. She rubs her thighs together, her hands hurriedly fixing her sweatshirt.

“Um, can I borrow a pair of pants?”

“Y—yeah, sure,” Cloud coughs. He needs a pair himself, after the mess they made. He reaches into his drawer, grabs the first two pairs of clean sweatpants he finds, and he tosses one Tifa’s way. She turns her back to him as she peels off her leggings, and he makes sure keep his gaze downcast, focusing on changing himself.

He can’t help but think it’s an oddly domestic scene. Tifa, wearing his clothes. She fixes her ponytail, smooths back some flyaway strands, and his eyes are glued to her, something odd coming to rest in his chest. Peace, maybe, despite the loud laughs and shouts of his friends outside. Tifa makes him feel at peace. Safe, even, and her smile is his highest form of comfort, the sun after a decimating storm.

He loves her. God, he loves her so fucking much.

It’s the alcohol that’s making him emotional. He’ll blame it on the alcohol, because it’s so hard for him to organize his feelings. Tifa comes to him, saying that they should wash up a bit before going back to the living room to join their friends. Her hand rests gently on his bicep.

“Why don’t you like Rufus Shinra?”

Tifa’s eyes widen. She gives a long pause before she responds.

“Because I don’t like him.”

“But why?” Cloud’s very nearly whining, and he knows he is. But he can’t stop, can’t stop the flurry of words that burst out of his mouth, “He’s handsome. He’s rich. He likes you. He’s good for you.”

The alcohol is dulling his brain. Logic escapes him; everything he’s been afraid of doesn’t matter now. He has no inhibitions. He’s communicating, just like Vincent and Aerith keep telling him to do. He feels sad, something sinister and relentless swirling deep within his soul, heightened by the alcohol.

“He’s better than me. He’s good for you. I’m not. I don’t deserve you.”

Tifa stiffens, the hand that’d been lightly gripping his arm now falling. Cloud searches for her gaze, but she keeps looking away, staring hard at the floor. Guilt rises like bile in his throat. He shouldn’t have said that. Why did he say that?

“Tifa…”

Cloud can’t read her expression, and it bothers him. It’s blank. Terrifyingly blank, carrying something cold. Sad, maybe. Like the night her smile wasn’t sunny, and he didn’t know how to comfort her other than letting her sleep on his lap. There’s so much he doesn’t know about her. They’re friends, have been for a year, but he’s not close to her. He doesn’t know her like Aerith does.

Rufus Shinra would probably have been better at consoling her. Cloud’s not sure. He’s drunk. And she’s drunk. And he’s kind of sad.

He’ll never have her.

God. Isn’t alcohol supposed to make people feel _better_?

“Don’t…say that.”

He stares at her. Her brow is scrunched, her eyes blindingly bright in the darkness of his bedroom. Oh no, did he make her upset? He upset her. She’s upset with him.

“Don’t say that he’s better than you. Don’t say…that you don’t deserve me. It’s not true.”

She gnaws at her bottom lip, her teeth shearing into the skin, and Cloud watches her, his heart coming to jump into his throat, strangling him.

“I’m sorry.” She lowers her head, her shoulders following the movement. “I’m sorry.”

But what is she sorry for? Why is she always apologizing? She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t be sorry.

“We should go back,” she says, right as a holler comes from Reno, saying that he wants to “kick their asses at Smash.”

Tifa leaves first, and he watches her retreating back, wondering what this feeling in his chest is. Heavy, cloudy, coating his tongue in ash. It’s dark, and his world is flooded in black, in a darkness so frighteningly lonely he feels like a child again. An outcast. A loser.

That’s what he is, after all. Nothing has changed.

**.**

**.**

**.**


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello i love you all

Cloud’s hangover is menacing. He hasn’t had one in a long time, because unlike _some people_ (Zack and Reno), he knows his limits. Zack and Reno, right now, are on the floor, passed out with their limbs entangled. Tifa and Vincent had left last night, dragging a knocked-out Yuffie with them. Aerith decided to sleep over, took Zack’s bed and didn’t even bother to haul him off the floor. There’s no waking him up when he’s blackout drunk, and she knows this well, like Cloud.

Cloud sits on the couch, his blanket wrapped like a cocoon around his entire body, head included. Only his face is visible, and sure, he probably looks like he’s moping. Because he is. He’s upset, okay.

Why the _fuck_ did Drunk Him _do that_?

“So,” Aerith pipes, voice casual, noncommittal. Cloud looks at her with a frown. “Tifa told me about last night.”

Oh no. Oh god. No. Cloud cannot do this right now.

“Aerith, I—”

“You’re insecure, aren’t you?”

That shuts Cloud up entirely.

“You don’t like yourself,” Aerith continues, and wow, okay, that’s painful. “You don’t think you’re good enough for Tifa. That’s why you won’t tell her your feelings, not because you’re shy or awkward.”

“What are you, my therapist?” Cloud grumbles.

“No, but you should get one,” Aerith advises, and she’s smiling. It’s not a cunning or teasing one, like normal. It’s genuine. She genuinely wants to help him. “Look, all I wanna say is that no matter what you think of yourself, you’re deserving of good things.”

Cloud’s jaw is slack. He just stares at Aerith in awe.

“You may tell yourself that you’re horrible, but really, you’re not,” she says. “Sometimes our minds are mean to us, and they say things that aren’t true. You’re not horrible, Cloud. You’re a good guy. A good friend. And Tifa certainly thinks that as well.”

Wow. Okay. Cloud is tongue-tied. What can he possibly say to that? Aerith hit every point on the nose, and he doesn’t like it; he’ll never admit aloud that she’s right. But she is. Everything being spit at him at once is a bit dizzying, feelings he’s been suppressing and ignoring as much as he could throughout his entire life. Aerith is right, and if he’s honest, he’s a bit sad that she is.

He doesn’t like himself. Yeah, that’s true, because no one other than Zack and his mom have liked him his entire life. So, why would Tifa like him?

“Tifa likes you.”

Oh. Wait. _What_?

“She really likes you,” Aerith says. “Well, she hasn’t told me directly, but I’m her best friend. I know her, and I know that she has feelings for you.”

Aerith bites at her lip, her gaze falling.

“Just, um, give her some time.”

Cloud swallows thickly.

“You already lost the bet,” he says. It’s been over a month since the semester started. Aerith has very well lost. “So, why are you helping me?”

It’s a joke. He jokes because that’s all he can bear to do right now. He’s not really ready to openly dissect his feelings with Aerith. Maybe he _should_ get a therapist…

She smiles at him, cunning and teasing, and he’s very glad to see it.

“Because I’m tired of the sexual tension between you two,” she groans. “Just fuck already!”

Cloud throws a cushion at her, and she bursts into laughter.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Tifa likes him._

Oh my god, oh my god, _oh my god_. Stay calm. It’s okay. Everything is okay. No, actually, it isn’t, because he’s freaking out. Aerith said that _Tifa likes him_.

Should he believe her? He has every reason to; she’s Tifa’s best friend. They live in a dorm room together, for God’s sake. They’re inseparable. If anyone is privy to Tifa’s feelings, it’s Aerith. And Aerith isn’t cruel enough to lie to him about something like this.

Tifa likes him. Tifa has feelings for him. Cloud, surely, is about to go into cardiac arrest. His heart is beating so hard it nearly breaks out of its cage.

“Can you sit?” Zack says, moaning because of the pain of his lingering hangover. “You’re gonna break the fucking floor.”

Cloud can’t stop pacing, hasn’t stopped since Aerith and Reno left a few hours ago.

“Tifa likes me,” he tells Zack, for maybe the thirtieth time today.

“Yes,” Zack says, nodding slowly. “And what’re you gonna do about that?”

Cloud stops. He takes in a deep, deep breath, a fresh wave of air that calms his frazzled nerves for a moment. He can’t believe he’s about to say this.

“I’m gonna ask her out.”

Because Cloud deserves good things. He does. He’s going to try very, very hard to convince himself of this fact. And so what if he doesn’t deserve Tifa? He’ll become a man who’s worthy of her. Because she only deserves the best.

Fuck Rufus Shinra.

Zack jumps up to his feet, his eyes wide, his face breaking into the widest grin Cloud has ever seen.

“Really?! You are?!”

Cloud nods, ruffling his hair nervously with his hand. “Yeah,” he says. Yeah, he’s going to do it. He’s finally going to do it. After over a year of longing for her, Cloud’s finally going to tell her how he feels. “Yeah, I’m gonna do it.”

Zack gathers Cloud into a very tight, Bro hug. He’s erupting in genuine glee for his best friend, and Cloud’s heart soars in his chest. Zack may be stupid. And annoying. And everything may be his fault. But he’s Cloud’s best friend through and through, his other half, his brother. He loves the stupid fucking idiot.

“Fuck yeah! Now, I’m gonna win the bet! Thanks, bro!”

Never mind. Cloud despises him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It’s Thursday. Thursday means World Cultures class with Tifa. Cloud has decided that he’s going to do it today, before he changes his mind. He’s sweating horribly during his entire walk to the lecture hall. His nerves are jittery, as if he’s just drank pounds and pounds of caffeine. God, why, _why_ did he decide to do this again? He doesn’t have the nerve. He’s Cloud, an immature loser who doesn’t know how to communicate. How the fuck is he going to do this?

He wants to change his mind. He wants to not do this so bad. Oh god, he feels like he’s going to throw up.

Okay. It’s fine. He still has a couple of hours before he has to do it. He wants to do it after class, in a kind of private place where no one can judge him. He can do it. _He can do it_.

He enters the room, five minutes before the class is set to start. He drops into his designated seat. Tifa, surprisingly, is not here. She’s usually here before him, because she’s actually punctual and a good student. He waits for her, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor tiles.

Professor Tucker comes; some late students trickle in, and Tifa is not one of them. He gets worried, because Tifa’s never even late, much less absent from class. He shoots her a quick text message when the professor isn’t looking. An hour later, and no Tifa, not even a response.

Now he’s incredibly concerned. If she was going to miss class, wouldn’t she have told him?

He tries Aerith. Luckily, the girl responds to him within minutes.

_Tifa went home early for the weekend_

Oh. Okay. That’s fine. She had to go home. Not a big deal, but why did she miss class? Has an emergency happened at home? God, he hopes not.

He sends her another message.

_I took really good notes for you. Hope you’re okay._

The entire day passes him by, and Tifa still does not respond to him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud’s having a crisis.

Well, he’s always having a crisis when it comes to Tifa. But this one is different. He’s so worried about Tifa he feels like his head is going to explode. His brain is running amok, the scenarios he’s conjuring up becoming more and more absurd by the minute.

What if she got into a car accident on her way home? What if she got kidnapped by gang members? What if she got kidnapped by Rufus Shinra’s goons? He’s rich; of course he probably has goons. Cloud has seen the movies, okay. What if she got kidnapped by human traffickers and sold into prostitution? What if she got abducted by aliens?

God, okay, he needs to get a fucking grip. She’s home. That’s all it is. She went home for the weekend. But why isn’t she responding to him? And why did she miss class? Tifa’s a good, dedicated student; she never misses class.

“Relax, man,” Zack says, his voice lazy as he focuses on the shooting game they’re playing. “Aerith said she’s fine.”

Yeah, Cloud knows Tifa’s fine. He just wishes he’d get at least one text from her, telling him that she’s fine. That’d put him at peace, he thinks.

There’s a knock on the door. Cloud tenses, and he looks at Zack; Zack seems perplexed as well. They’re in the very early hours, twilight creeping over the sky in wisps of blue; the only reason Cloud and Zack are awake is because it’s Sunday. Who the fuck is coming over right now? A murderer, maybe? A robber?

“Cloud?”

Nope, not a murderer or robber. But Tifa. _Tifa’s_ here.

Cloud drops his controller and bursts forward, his run towards the front door nearly desperate. He throws it open, and he comes face-to-face with Tifa. She’s cushioned in a thick jacket, the hood of it fuzzy and bathing her face in shadows.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was hoping you’d be awake. I—”

“Come in,” Cloud splutters, cutting her off accidentally. She obliges, steps into the apartment, kicks off her boots and places them on the shoe rack in the corner. Zack, from the couch, waves at her.

“Hey, Teef! Glad you’re here! Wanna play?!”

Tifa smiles kindly. “No thanks. I’m really sorry for coming like this. I wanted to call…”

“No, it’s fine,” Cloud says quickly. She unzips her jacket, hangs it on the rack nailed into the door. She’s dressed in only a thin t-shirt and pajama pants, much too light for the coldness outside. She looks bitten in the coming winter’s fangs, her nose and cheeks blazing in red.

Cloud doesn’t care that it’s late or that she came unannounced. He cares about the frailness of her silhouette, how small and vulnerable she looks, how her eyes waver, the ruby light dulled and burnt out. Her smile, again, is plain. Dark. Blank, like it had been the night he was drunk.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and he’s quiet. She does not answer.

“Teef, you hungry?” Zack asks, and maybe Cloud’s grateful for it, how Zack is always Zack no matter the situation. “We got ramen, bread, and a _lot_ of popcorn.”

Tifa lets out a tiny puff of a laugh. “No thank you. But, um, if you don’t mind…” She wrenches her fingers together, the skin pulled taut white. “Can I, um, sleep here tonight? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cloud says. “Of course you can.”

“You’re always welcome here, Teef!” Zack yells, his smile broad and jolly. “Want me or Cloud to take the couch?”

“No, no!” Her eyes go wide. “No, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that. I’ll take the couch.”

In a sudden bout of confidence, Cloud takes her hand, his grip gentle and careful.

“You can take my bed,” he says. Tifa does not fight him.

They walk towards his bedroom, and Zack’s voice is all too teasing as he calls out to them.

“Goodnight, you crazy kids! Remember: use a condom!”

“Fuck _off_ , Zack!”

Zack’s laugh is swallowed by the slamming of Cloud’s door. Cloud turns to Tifa, and when he realizes the sorry state his room is in, he hurriedly begins tidying up. His room is a fucking mess. Clothes and garbage strewn everywhere; his desk looks like a library vomited on it. He doesn’t even remember when he last changed his bed sheet. And he’s gonna make Tifa sleep on it? God, he’s a fucking _idiot_. It didn't matter so much the last time she was here, when both of them were blitzed. Now, it matters.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his cheeks hot, like they’re on fire. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tifa says. “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who just showed up in the middle of the night.”

Cloud drops into the hamper the bunched ball of clothes in his hand.

“Are you okay, Tifa?”

No, no she isn’t; even a child can decipher that. Cloud gazes at her, and she looks as if she’s been dismembered, pulled apart by the seams, holding herself together by strings only. And he wonders what burdens she’s bearing, why she looks so small and frail and tired, why her voice sounds so sad, her eyes even sadder.

She sighs. “Not really. I just…I wanted to see you.”

Oh. Okay. He doesn’t have time to dwell on how happy that statement makes him. Not right now, because Tifa closes the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his torso. She rests her head on his chest, and he’s frozen for a moment, his brain failing, static in his ears. Tifa is hugging him. _Hugging him_.

Then, he places his hands on her back, cradling her close, hoping he can be the comfort she needs right now. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. But he wants to be her support, wants to be there for her, wants to get to know her, to pick apart all her fears and insecurities, to understand what makes her _her_. He wants all of that, and maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he doesn’t deserve her.

But he has to think about what Aerith said. He deserves good things, no matter what his evil brain likes to tell him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” she answers, muffled against his shirt. “Not really. Not right now. I’m tired.”

He respects that. Unwillingly, he pulls away, holding her by the shoulders. He glances towards his bed, then back at her.

“You can sleep here,” he says. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Actually,” she says, and her pretty, manicured hands bunch into his sleeves; the nails of her thumbs are chipped, the polish broken and cracked and in need of repairing, “can you, um, stay here? Only if you want to.”

Stay here. Sleep. Sleep with her in the same bed?

Truly, it takes all of his strength not to faint.

“Y—yeah, I’m fine with that.”

She crawls underneath the covers, finding no issue in getting comfortable in his bed. Meanwhile, Cloud’s anxiety is flaring in loud alarms in his head. Tifa, in his bed. Tifa, spending the night with him. Tifa, Tifa, _Tifa_ , seeking him out in her vulnerable, needy state. She wanted to see him. She wanted to be with him when she was sad.

Aerith was right. She was right.

When Cloud gets into the bed, Tifa’s hands immediately reach for him. He lends her his arm as a pillow, and she curls into his side, sighing in what he assumes is contentment. She’s content, being here with him. They’ve never done this before, something that seems even more sacred and intimate than touching each other’s genitals. The air between them is heavy, raw with emotion, weighing down his chest. There’s a lot that’s unsaid, a lot that needs to be said.

In the end, Cloud only closes his eyes, the rhythmic sound of Tifa’s even breathing lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud wakes to yellow light, the colors of his world swirling into his sight like paint in water. The weight that’d been on his arm when he’d fallen asleep is no longer there; Tifa is already awake, sitting up, hunched over her smartphone. She doesn’t seem to have noticed his stirring. Her attention is entirely absorbed into the small screen, her thumbs clicking away at the keyboard, typing furiously.

“Hey.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, putting the phone away, as if she’s afraid of him seeing something, knowing something. She gives him a smile, a golden halo full of morning light. It’s the smile he has missed so desperately, like a land that’s drowned in rainwater and storms.

“Good morning.” She turns to him, sits with her knees against her chest. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“You can stay whenever you want,” he tells her.

She nods. “I just really wanted to see you. I’m sorry.” Her fingers fidget restlessly with the end of her ponytail, twirling and twirling the strands. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, and he means it. “You should explain only if you want to.”

Tifa stares at him, her eyes glazing over; he can’t read her expression, can’t even begin to understand what she’s thinking. His breath is bated, and he shudders a bit when her hand comes forward, her palm cupping his cheek.

“Why are you so good to me?”

This question catches him completely off guard. He’s at a loss for words, his mouth opening and then closing immediately. Tifa’s touch is soft, like rose petals on his skin, warm and he relishes in it, wraps his fingers around her wrist, then trails them up to drape them over the back of her hand.

“You said that you’re not good for me,” she says, whispers the words, as if afraid to speak them. “That you don’t deserve me.”

The pad of her thumb strokes the curve of his cheek, and his breath staggers.

“I think I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

“No,” he says, his voice firm but still crackling at the end. “No, that’s not true. You deserve good things.” He sighs. “You deserve to be loved.”

_And I love you._

Come on, say it, say it, _say it_. He said he was going to. He was going to tell her his feelings.

He’s losing the nerve. He can’t do it. He’s not brave enough.

“But I don’t know how to love,” she says, and she tries to laugh, but it comes out of her throat broken. Broken and wet with tears. They’re glistening in her eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to make them go away.

“I—I don’t either,” he says, and he’s brutally honest. “But we can…learn together, right?”

Tifa stays silent. Her response is physical, leaning forward and pressing her mouth to his. This kiss is nothing like the ones they’ve had before; this one is gentler, sweeter, void of lust or heat or desperation. This one has him melting, turning to putty right in her hands. Tifa, his crush, the love of his life, the most beautiful person in the entire world, holding him, kissing him. It feels surreal, and maybe he isn’t awake yet; maybe he’s still dreaming, and he’ll wake up, and she’ll be gone.

His hand crawls around the back of her neck, bringing her just a bit closer, kissing her just a bit deeper. She’s real, he decides. She’s real.

They pull back, a bit breathless; she comes back in for a couple of smaller pecks, wanting more of him, he thinks. But he turns his head, his face burning in a flush.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My breath stinks.”

Tifa laughs, her fingers coming to curl under his chin, tilting his head back to face her. “Mine does too.”

She kisses him again, and with this one, he smiles against her lips.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud has a very big problem.

Tifa is still here. She’d made breakfast with Zack in the morning (or afternoon, because that’s when they all woke up). Aerith had come, squishing Tifa into a big hug. Then she and Zack had gone for the movie they wanted to see, leaving Cloud and Tifa alone in the apartment.

The afternoon ages, the sun teetering over the edge of the horizon. Cloud tries his best to focus on the pretty colors of the sky, painted streaks of orange and pink and lilac, and _not_ the very pretty girl next to him on the couch. She’d taken a shower not too long ago, her hair still very wet and dripping, dampening her shirt into sheerness. _His_ shirt. She’s wearing his shirt, as she didn’t come with any other clothes besides the ones on her back.

And she’s not wearing a bra. Cloud’s trying so _fucking_ hard not to stare at her breasts, her nipples, hard and poking through the shirt. She smells like his body wash and shampoo, cool and fresh and artificially oceanic, and dear god, it’s driving him fucking crazy. He feels like an animal in heat.

No, stop it, bad Cloud. They’d been sharing such pure, sweet kisses just hours before. And now, Cloud wants to do _really_ impure, unsweet things to her.

She’s innocently immersed in a show on the television. Idly, she lifts her arms, bringing all of her hair back and tying it into a loose ponytail. He watches her like a hawk as she does it, the way her arms flex and move, the still outline of her profile, her _breasts_. Tifa’s body is one that’ll drive anyone mad, and Cloud in particular feels manic for her, longing for her, craving her touch and flesh. The familiar coil of heat rests low in his abdomen, and now comes a familiar hardness in his pants. Thank god he’s wearing sweats right now. He adjusts himself, trying to act casual, but he’s sure the blazing blush in his cheeks gives him away.

Tifa looks at him, and her smile is nearly menacing.

“Uncomfortable?”

She’s teasing him. Damn her for having so much power over him.

“No,” he grumbles stubbornly. She gives a lilting giggle that’s like bells in his ear. She crawls over to him, coming to straddle his lap.

_Oh my god._

She’s only wearing panties under his shirt; he can see the pink lace under the hiked-up hem. She’s truly going to be the death of him.

“Do you like me wearing your shirt?” she asks, wrapping her arms around him, her fingers playing with the silver pierced into his left ear.

“M—maybe,” he says, wishing he didn’t stutter. Tifa’s nails trace the shell of his ear, and he very nearly moans just at that. She’s in his lap, only barely brushing his erection. _Barely_. He wants more, and he rolls his hips a bit, only for her to move away, back to balance on his knees.

He wants to cry.

“ _Tifa_ ,” he whines.

“Impatient, are we?” She’s toying with him, and she loves it. She leans forward to kiss him, rough and needy, a mess of teeth and tongue. He doesn’t hesitate to twirl his tongue with hers, to let her nip at his bottom lip. Her mouth feels lovely against his, but he can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like on other parts of his body.

Her fingers hook onto the hem of his shirt, and she brings it over his head, throwing it into some far corner. Immediately, he feels self-conscious; he’s not the biggest or buffest guy around. He’s sure Rufus Shinra’s body is way better than his.

But Tifa doesn’t care, only bends to drop open-mouthed kisses all over his skin, his jaw and neck and clavicle. There’s one spot, the junction between his neck and shoulder, that drives him wild, and she takes advantage of that, nibbling at it, suckling at it. That’ll be a mark he’ll have to cover later.

Tifa moves off his lap, standing up and taking off her own shirt. And Cloud is in awe at the sight, Tifa bare before him except for her panties. He stares, absorbing the view, memorizing every visible inch of her, the swell of her breasts, the dips and curves of her waist, the little beauty mark on her left shoulder. Cloud likes all of it, likes all of her, wants to worship her just like she deserves.

What he wouldn’t give to have her moaning and writhing under him.

But right now, she’s doing what she wants. She drops to her knees in between his spread legs.

_She’s gonna blow him_. Tifa Lockhart is going to give him a _blowjob_. He’s truly the luckiest guy in the fucking world. He doesn’t deserve this treatment. She’s an angel, too good for this fucking horrible planet.

She gets his sweatpants and briefs down just enough; she takes his cock into her hand, guiding it to her mouth. He’s hard and leaking, and her tongue comes out, lapping at the head. Cloud sighs, leaning back, his heart pounding so hard it wants to rip right out of his chest. Tifa is tentative, slow, wraps her hand around the base of him as she showers the head with little licks. The tip of her tongue traces a pulsing vein on the underside, and he shudders, his thighs jolting, the pleasure bubbling right under his skin. He rests his hand on her head, curling loose strands of her bangs around his fingers.

She looks directly into his eyes as she takes him whole into her mouth. He groans as he hits the back of her throat, her cheeks hollowing; she bobs her head back and forth, back and forth, swallowing around the head. And he can’t take much of this at all, her mouth hot and wet around him, taking him in so deep. Her hands are on his thighs to keep him still, but he trembles, shallowly thrusting into her mouth as he chants her name like a mantra.

“Tifa, Tifa, _please_ , I’m gonna—”

She’s relentless, doesn’t stop even as he tugs at her hair. With a jerk of his hips, he comes into her mouth, her name stuck on his tongue in a breathless whisper. The pleasure unravels, sings through his veins, holds him hostage in its grasp for a few long, dizzying moments before letting him go. The strength drained from him, he slumps against the couch, breathing harsh and deep. Through his lashes, he watches her tongue dart out to lick up the remains of his cum, smudged over her lips.

What did he do to deserve her?

“Satisfied?” she asks, sings the word nearly. Yes, actually, he is. In the physical sense. But mentally he’ll never be satisfied until she is.

So, he pulls her forward by the hand, gently pushes her until she’s splayed on the couch. One hand holds both of her ankles up as the other gets her panties off. He spreads her legs, and she’s fully exposed, her teeth biting at her bottom lip.

Tifa’s beautiful, painfully so. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before. And she looks a bit nervous as well, a complete change from the confidence she had while pleasuring him. Her face is rouged in a dark flush, hair matted to her forehead with sweat. He wants to please her. He so desperately wants to make her feel good.

He starts with his fingers. She’s soaking wet, and he’s easily able to slip the first finger in. He knows that girls like this, and _she_ likes this, a little mewl tumbling out of her lips. Her walls tighten around him, and when he curls his finger upwards, he brushes a rough patch of skin.

Her legs jerk, her back arching, her mouth falling open. Her fingers come to wrap around his hand.

“Right there,” she moans. “Please. Right there.”

He obeys. He touches her right where she wants it, thrusts his finger in and out. He adds a second, and then a third, working her open, and she’s fidgeting, her hand curled into his hair. She’s reacting well, but he wants to do more. Wants to maybe drive her crazy. Back at the party, she had liked it when he touched her clit, hard and fast. Maybe...maybe...

He first drops kisses on her hipbone, moving down to her thigh, tonguing at the sensitive flesh. She wriggles under him, maybe in anticipation, her hand tugging at his hair.

“Cloud, please,” she begs. “I want it.”

Who is he to deny her of what she wants?

He’s never done this before, and he hopes his inexperience is not obvious here. He gives her clit a quick lick, and she reacts with a jut of her hips. Hm. Good, he thinks.

He licks again. And again. And again. He sets a rhythm that matches his fingers, and she’s trembling, calling out his name as if it’s the only thing she knows. He tries sucking on her clit, wondering if that’s pleasurable to her.

It is. It very much is.

“Just like that,” she breathes. “Please. _Please_.”

He obliges. He moves his fingers in and out of her, coated in her slick, as his lips suck at her clit. He throws in a few more licks, and soon enough, Tifa is coming all over his hand, shivering, moaning, pulling at his hair as she rubs herself against his tongue, dragging out her high. She looks so pretty like this, falling apart in front of him, her skin shining in a thin sheen of sweat, his name tearing from her lips in a desperate whimper. He doesn’t feel like stopping even after she’s come back down, and her thighs shudder around his ears as he sucks harder on her clit.

“Too much!” she yelps, recoiling. “Cloud, _oh my god_.”

Holding his neck, she pulls him up, her mouth searching for his. She kisses him and hums, tasting herself on his lips. She tastes good, he thinks. Sweet because she’s Tifa, and thinking about that, thinking about what she just did to him and what he just did to her, has him wanting to bury himself into a hole and die. Perhaps it’s what they call Post Nut Clarity, but he’s incredibly embarrassed, his head dipping to tuck into her shoulder. He can’t believe he just did that. With _Tifa_.

She cradles him against her chest, her hands a soothing stroke down his back. Against his ear, her heartbeat is loud but rhythmic, and he closes his eyes, savoring her touch.

“Um,” she begins. He moves his head to look at her. “We’re, uh, together, right?”

Uh. Um. Together. Together, as in a relationship? As in boyfriend and girlfriend?

_Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god_.

“Uh, y—yeah,” he wheezes, coughing a bit. “Right?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding surely. “Good. I don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

In the year he has liked her, never has he ever thought that he’d be hearing those words from her. And now that he has heard them, he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to contain the burst of glee in his chest. Instead, he smiles quietly, shyly against her skin.

Tifa is his now. And he is hers. And god, it’s all he has ever fucking wanted.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The second he and Tifa walk into the café, hand-in-hand, there is screaming. From Yuffie, Reno, and Zack, respectively.

“Finally!”

“Didn’t think ya had the balls, Strife!”

“That’s my boy!”

Cloud hates his friends. Tifa giggles, her face alight in a pretty wash of red. They settle into their chairs, and Tifa does not let go of his hand even once, keeps her fingers tangled with his. He looks at them, the pale pink polish, painted precisely with no chipping or cracking. He still can’t really believe it, he and Tifa, holding hands. He and Tifa, together, boyfriend and girlfriend, trying out the whole “love” thing, learning and building together.

He’s stuck in a constant state of disbelief, like this isn’t his reality. But he looks at Tifa, and she’s very real, giving him her smile, showering him with sunlit warmth.

“I won!” Zack screams, and this catches Cloud’s attention. “Pay up, fuckers!”

Groans come from all around, hands beginning to dig into pockets. Yuffie and Reno take out their smartphones, probably transferring Zack the money through an app. Vincent takes out his wallet, and what college student has hundreds of dollars in cash on him? Weirdo.

Aerith, Cloud notices, is still, and Zack turns to her, wrapping an arm around her. “You don’t have to pay, of course.” He punctuates the sentence by planting a quick kiss on her temple. Immediately, Yuffie and Reno whine.

“That’s not fair!”

“Yeah, she has to pay too!”

“She’s my girlfriend!” Zack defends. “I love her!”

“You don’t love us?!” Reno screams.

“No! You guys can choke!”

They launch into a typical, stupid argument. Cloud was right; this is entertaining. Tifa, however, watching the scene, looks extremely perplexed.

“What are they doing?” she asks innocently. “Why are they paying Zack?”

Cloud fumbles over his words, not sure how he’s supposed to explain this without sounding like an asshole, or an idiot, or both. He honestly never thought this day would come, that he’d have to tell Tifa about the bet their friends made on when Cloud would confess his feelings to her.

Wait. Actually…he didn’t _necessarily_ confess his feelings to her. He wanted to, but he did not have the courage.

So, Zack hasn’t actually won yet…

Eh, whatever. Not like it matters…

**.**

**.**

**.**

It matters.

“You’re dating but you haven’t told her how you feel about her?!”

Aerith stands before him, her hands on her hips. She looks unamused. Cloud frowns.

“I mean…” he mumbles, scratching at his head. “No? Well, I was going to, but we both just decided to, uh, go for it.”

“’Go for it?’” Aerith parrots. “What does that even mean?”

“Try the whole love thing out.”

And learn together, because really, they both don’t know what they’re doing. But Cloud doesn’t tell Aerith this, decides to keep that to himself. That memory is sacred to him, the morning Tifa became his and he became hers, the shy, gossamer kisses they’d shared, how she bore her soul open to him. He’d wanted to say it, that he loves her, but in the end, he didn’t have the nerve.

“But you didn’t confess,” Aerith says, and it’s not a question. Cloud groans, feeling like he’s being interrogated by the fucking police.

“No. But we both said that we don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

Aerith only looks at him blankly, her hands falling from her hips. She goes to stir the noodles she has boiling on the stove; tonight, she's making a pasta dinner for him and Zack.

“You’re probably the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” Coming from Aerith, that offends him _very much_. “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am! But I told you to communicate with her!”

“Does it matter, though? We’re already together.”

Aerith glares at him.

“I guess not…”

It’ll be fine, Cloud thinks. He’ll just tell Tifa how he feels when he’s ready.

But he doesn't think he wants to tell Zack that he didn't technically win the bet yet. Cloud will let him keep the money.

**.**

**.**

**.**


	5. v.

It feels different, going to class as a couple rather than just friends. Of course, no one in their World Cultures class really cares that they’re a couple now; Cloud likes that about college, how most of the students just mind their own business. Still, he can’t help but feel self-conscious, walking into the lecture hall, holding hands with Tifa. It’s not that he’s embarrassed of her. Oh no. Never. He’d _never_. If anything, he’d show her off, like yes, this is Tifa, the Most Beautiful Person in the World, his _Girlfriend_.

Really, he’s insecure in himself, because the stares they attract no doubt belong to people who secretly think that he’s unworthy of her. Or maybe that’s just his anxiety talking, and he’s fretting for no reason, because college students just don’t _care_.

Regardless, it’s different. Tifa never lets go of his hand, runs her thumb along the bumps of his knuckles as Professor Tucker talks and talks. Cloud can’t focus on anything but her, how soft and warm her hand is in his. He likes holding it, thinks it fits nice against his. He isn’t really much bigger than her in terms of height or build, but his hand is a lot bigger, nearly swallowing hers.

She looks at him, as if sensing his thoughts. She lets go of his hand, goes to press her palm flat against his, lining their fingers up. His are quite a bit longer. Hers are slender but still a bit stubby. They’re adorable. She’s adorable, and he very nearly melts into a puddle of goo when she smiles at him shyly.

The lecture stretches on, covering the full length of the class period, which always upsets Cloud, who likes to leave as early as he can always. They’re reminded of an upcoming exam, the second out of three for the semester. And due next week is not a homework assignment of questions from the textbook, but an actual paper. A five-page essay on some shit Cloud didn’t even hear. He groans; five pages isn’t long, but that doesn’t mean he wants to do it. Nope. He absolutely does not.

“We can do it together,” Tifa tells him, gathering her belongings as the students shuffle out of the room.

Cloud nods. Instantly, he feels a thousand times better about the assignment.

They walk into the hallway, hand-in-hand, of course. Tifa turns to him, batting her lashes.

“We should go on a date!”

Cloud chokes on his own spit, coughing so hard he nearly dislocates a lung. Tifa stops, her expression worried as she soothes her hands up and down his back, slamming it once to help him breathe. Why does he feel like this has happened before?

“It’s okay! We don’t have to!”

No. What? _No_. He wants to. Dear god, he wants to. He’s been imagining dates with Tifa ever since he met her. At Vaan’s, his favorite restaurant in Sector 7. At the movies; she told him she likes action and thriller movies. At an amusement park or carnival, when the weather’s good. In the city during Christmas season, when the world is alight in rainbow fires and cheer. Maybe even at a concert, or a play, or a nightclub, if she wants. Cloud has imagined every kind of outing with her, and he’d often get lost in his thoughts, thinking about what she would wear, what they would talk about, if he’d kiss her goodbye afterwards.

He really did not think his silly, childish dreams would ever come true.

“I want to,” he tells her, his voice hoarse from his coughing.

“Okay,” she says, grinning wide. “Where should we go?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” he says, mulling over the question. It’s too cold for an amusement park, and Christmas is not here yet. He doesn’t know of any good concerts or plays coming up, and he really doesn’t feel like going to a nightclub. “Maybe to dinner? Or a movie?”

“Or both! I just like spending time with you.”

Okay, heart, please, _calm down_ , don’t give out before the date with Tifa.

“I do too,” Cloud admits, his voice small and sheepish. Tifa lets go of his hand in favor of hooking her fingers onto his elbow, walking with her side right up against his. And Cloud feels so giddy, so _happy_ , for the first time in a long time. Tifa feels like happiness, like home, like peace and warmth, everything he’s been missing. And being with her like this, touching her, holding her, feels surreal. It feels right.

It feels like love. Definitely.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_He’s going on a date with Tifa_.

“Okay,” Zack says, his arms crossed, standing in the middle of a room that looks like it’s been through a hurricane. The time to pick Tifa up approaches steadily but still too quickly, and Cloud has no idea what to wear. Everything in his fucking closet sucks, he realized after Zack pulled all his clothes out. Now they’re not sure what to do, and Cloud’s in the middle of a mess he won’t enjoy cleaning up later. “Okay, so, we can do something here.”

Cloud doesn’t think so. He’s panicking, his hands in his hair.

“I’m gonna look like a doofus!”

“No friend of mine is a doofus!” Zack yells, pointing at him. “You’re gonna look like a fucking model!”

Zack bends at the waist, sifting through the piles and piles of clothes around him, grunting and groaning.

“No,” he says, tossing away a pair of pants. “No. No. Eh…no. Dear god, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Cloud grabs the offensive clothing item from Zack. It’s a t-shirt that says Pasta Freak on it. He bought it in a moment of weakness, okay.

“Reno bought it for me.” A complete lie, but it’s to save his pride.

Zack keeps looking, and eventually, he comes up short. Sighing, he rests his hands on his hips. “Remember what I wore on my first date with Aerith?”

Cloud thinks back. Zack wore a plain t-shirt with a nice, expensive blazer on top. He doesn’t remember the pants situation, but he does recall that Zack looked incredible in the blazer.

“But I don’t have anything like that.”

Zack runs out of the room, nearly tripping on the many clothes strewn on his path. A few minutes later, he comes back with a hanger bearing the very same blazer that’s in Cloud’s memories. It does look very expensive, with sleek, navy blue silk.

“Tifa’s gonna love this!” Zack shoves the blazer into Cloud’s chest. “And under it…”

Zack grabs a t-shirt from the pile, black with no signs of Pasta Freak on it.

“Wear this with some dark jeans and loafers, and Tifa’s gonna go fucking _wild_!”

Okay. This is good, Cloud thinks. The black and navy go very well together, and he has the perfect pair of jeans to complete the look. He doesn’t have any loafers that’ll match, but some black sneakers will do, right? Okay. This is really good, actually. Zack may be an infuriating buffoon, but he’s always there for Cloud when he needs him.

“And for fuck’s sake, brush your fucking hair!”

Never mind. Zack sucks.

Cloud swats away Zack’s hands, which are going after his blond locks. Messy and unruly is the style, okay.

“You’re one to talk! Look at your own hair!”

“My hair is cool!” Zack argues. “It’s the slicked-back look!”

“Whatever,” Cloud grunts. “I have to change.”

He’s _so_ glad he won’t look like a doofus in front of Tifa. The blazer fits okay, maybe a bit on the loose side, but nothing too noticeable. Zack’s taller than him, but they aren’t that different in build. He dabs on the cologne Tifa likes, and surely, she’ll be happy about that tonight. He wears a random, silver wristwatch he finds on his desk, pairs it with a silver, rose stud earring. It isn’t as cool as the wolf stud, but it’s nice, he thinks.

Brushing his hair is an unattainable feat right now, so he instead just runs his fingers through it, trying sloppily to somewhat tame the tresses. When he’s finished, he looks in the mirror. No, he absolutely does _not_ look like a doofus. The opposite, actually. He’s a stud, if he does say so himself. He’s always been a pretty good-looking guy, he thinks; not as pretty as Reno or as dashing as Rufus. But he’s good-looking enough, and he really, _really_ hopes Tifa likes the way he looks tonight. It’s their first date. He’s not going to fuck it up.

All dressed and ready, he steps out of his room, and Zack instantly smothers him in a huge hug.

“My boy! They grow up so fast!”

“Shut up,” Cloud grunts, but it’s around a smile. Zack lets go, but not without slipping something into the pocket of the blazer. Cloud looks at the item.

A condom. Of course.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Zack winks, and he walks off.

Cloud hates his best friend so fucking much.

(But, actually, he’s grateful for the condom, because he’ll probably very well need it tonight.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

The nervousness is palpable, tingling at the tips of his fingers and toes. He keeps fiddling with the bouquet of roses in his hand, the plastic crinkling, the scent of them draping like a thick curtain over all of his senses. He fingers one of the petals, finds solstice in the softness as he hears shuffling behind the door. It comes open in front of him, and it isn’t who he’s been waiting to see.

“Aw, for me?! You shouldn’t have!”

Cloud only glares at Aerith.

“Not for you.”

She giggles behind her hand, stepping aside to let him inside the dorm room.

“Tifa’s in the bathroom. She’s almost ready.”

Cloud nods, swallowing heavily. He takes these moments of quiet to calm his raving nerves. He’s seen Tifa plenty of times before. They’ve hung out plenty of times before. Hell, he’s even seen her naked before. Why is he nervous now when all they’re going to do is eat dinner? He’s truly acting like a lovesick teenager.

He can’t help it when it comes to her. Because she’s Tifa, the most perfect girl in the world. Who also happens to be his _girlfriend_ now.

He smiles a tiny, tiny bit. Tifa is his _girlfriend_.

Aerith, from her desk, hums. “You are _so_ whipped.”

Cloud squawks, “So is Zack for you!”

Aerith only smiles triumphantly. “As he should be.”

Cloud rolls his eyes.

“Where are you two lovebirds going?” Aerith asks, nearly singing the question.

“To dinner,” Cloud mutters. They’d wanted to see a movie as well, but Cloud had found all the shows this evening sold out when he’d checked for tickets, but he’s not going to bother Aerith with that information. He does feel bad, because Tifa had really wanted to see that movie, and honestly, he just wants to spend as much time with her as he can.

She feels the same way. She likes spending time with him too. He almost can’t believe it, the Most Beautiful and Perfect Angel in the World wanting to spend time with a peasant like him. It’s nonsensical.

Aerith’s gaze isn’t judging, but it does stir a storm of anxiety within him. She looks him up and down, the emeralds of her eyes glowing, and he tugs at his sleeve, fiddling with his collar, feeling self-conscious.

“What? Do I look weird?”

“Nope.” Aerith grins. “You look great for once! Did you actually brush your hair?!”

Cloud hates his friends.

“Fuck off.”

“I was just thinking about my first date with Zack,” Aerith explains. “He wore a blazer just like yours.”

“This is Zack’s blazer. He lent it to me.”

Aerith’s eyes go wide, her cheeks pinking over.

“Well, I sure hope he washed it first!”

Cloud feels something in his soul wither and die. He stares at the offensive article of clothing on his being, wondering what the fuck happened to it on that first date.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

Aerith’s only response is a telling, suggestive snicker.

Cloud _really_ hates his friends.

“Ready!”

Oh god, oh god, _Tifa’s ready_. Cloud thinks that nothing could have possibly prepared him for this moment. Sure, he likes Tifa any way he can get her, in jeans and a t-shirt, in a hooded sweatshirt and leggings, in a corset top and miniskirt, because she’s absolutely perfect. She looks gorgeous in anything she wears.

But _this_. _This_ has him nearly passing out. He has to grab the back of Aerith’s chair to steady himself, and Aerith is hollering in laughter. Tifa’s swathed in lavender satin, down to her knees where the skirt flutters around her. Her hair is pulled back into a braid that rests on her shoulder, and her face is painted in soft washes of pink gloss and brown shadow. She holds her purse in her hand, with her coat hung over her arm. She looks at him, eyes wide and glittering and holding hostage the silver of the moon outside.

“What’s wrong?” Tifa asks, her expression molded around genuine concern. “You don’t like it?”

“N—no!” he stammers quickly. He loves it. He loves it so much he can’t even express it coherently. Tifa’s lovely in anything she wears. But _this_. The cuteness. The girliness. The softness. Everything about this has his heart hammering, pounding painfully in his chest. He is so, so smitten with her it hurts. “No. I love it. You look…incredible.”

Tifa smiles, light and shy as she tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear. Cloud feels his limbs turn to putty, feels something bloom hard and fast in the cave of his chest. He steps forward, hands her the bouquet of flowers, and her eyes sparkle, stars floating in pools of ruby silk.

“You didn’t have to!” she gushes, pink washing into her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Aerith, in the distance, coos, “You guys are so cute!”

Cloud looks at her, and she has her smartphone in front of her face.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Taking a picture so we can make fun of you guys in the group chat.”

Tifa gives a pretty laugh. Cloud thinks he might just block Aerith’s number on his phone.

**.**

**.**

**.**

His favorite restaurant is Vaan’s in Sector 7, but something told him that wouldn’t be the most appropriate place for the occasion. It’s more of a small, cozier restaurant, and Cloud would like to take Tifa there for breakfast or lunch sometime. To fit the polished glamor of the evening, to celebrate their first official date as a couple, Cloud takes her to Terra’s in Sector 5, and immediately upon entering, Tifa is struck in awe and delight. The ceilings are high and vaulted; the carpet is plush and velvet. The tables are all draped in fine, silk tablecloths, and the waiters and waitress are prim and proper, standing as straight as boards as they lead the two to their table.

“Cloud, this looks expensive,” Tifa whispers to him in worry.

“It’s fine,” he says. He’d worked hard over the summer to make money, and he can always take up a few more shifts on the weekends. He doesn’t care how expensive the meal gets as long as Tifa’s happy and satisfied. Truly he’d do anything to make her happy.

They settle into their table, one towards the back wall of windows. Their view of the city at night is clear, and Tifa stares, her eyes wide, the shimmering lights winking with her pupils. Cloud watches her, traces the outline of her profile with his eyes, holds her hand just a bit tighter. Their fingers are threaded, and he looks at the purple paint on her nails, a shade that melds with her dress perfectly.

“Seriously, Cloud,” Tifa says, frowning a bit. “This is going to be expensive.”

“It’s fine, Tifa.” He gives her a small smile, hoping it doesn’t look wobbly or awkward. “I can pay for it.” He just wanted to take her somewhere nice, because really, she deserves nothing but the best. Tifa still looks a bit uncomfortable, but she drops the topic once the waiter comes.

Cloud goes for a simple tomato pasta dish, while Tifa goes for chicken parmesan. He doesn’t talk much as they eat, instead opts to just listen to Tifa prattle on, about that one time in high school when she and Aerith had gone to a classmate’s house party that got busted by the police. Aerith’s parents had been so angry they’d forbidden her from leaving the house for any reason other than school for three months. Tifa laughs about the memory, and Cloud smiles at her, enthralled with her and the way her eyes crinkle into crescent moons, the soft yet husky lull of her voice in his ears. He could listen to her for hours and hours and never get tired.

“What about your parents?” he asks. “How did they react?”

The change in Tifa’s demeanor is near invisible, and he would have missed it had he not spent as much time with her as he has. Her shoulders fall a bit; her eyes get dimmer, like a light being switched off. She’s quick to hide it with a giggle, but the seed of worry has already been planted into Cloud’s mind.

“They didn’t say much.” And that’s all.

Cloud’s left wondering. Of course, not everyone has an amicable relationship with his or her parents. Tifa may be one of those who doesn’t, but he shouldn’t assume. Still, he thinks about that time she disappeared for a weekend and came to his apartment at four in the morning, looking devastated and haggard.

_I think I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you._

He won’t think about it, at least not right now.

After they’ve both cleaned off their plates and drank their waters, the waiter comes with the checkbook. Cloud takes it, opening the folder and checking the price of the meal.

_Yikes_.

Okay. This is fine. He expected this. It _is_ a very fancy restaurant, after all. And the food was delicious, even if the portions weren’t exactly the biggest. It’s fine. Everything is fine. He’s praying that Tifa doesn’t sense his discomfort as he slips his credit card into the pocket of the folder. Once he shuts the folder, he’s ready to call back the waiter, before the folder is snatched right out of his hold.

Tifa sits back down in her chair, giving him a smile that reminds him of Aerith: devious.

“Thank you!”

“Tifa, no!” Cloud’s whining like a fucking baby. “I said it was fine!”

“I feel bad!” Tifa doesn’t even check the price of the meal before she shoves her own credit card into the pocket of the folder. Cloud tries to reach over and grab the book, but she holds it over her head and away from him. When their waiter passes by, she waves him over, and she happily hands him the checkbook. “Please split the bill.”

He nods, and he jogs off. Cloud watches him go, feeling bitter.

“I have money too, you know,” Tifa says. Cloud frowns. “I don’t believe the man has to pay for everything all the time. And I’d feel bad if you paid for everything by yourself.”

“Still…” Cloud mutters. He doesn’t want to argue with her. It’s less about chivalry and gender roles and more about the fact that he wants to do everything he can for her. Because he loves her, admires her, is so happy she’s finally his now. And he thinks she deserves the absolute best. Buying her an expensive meal is only scratching the surface of the things he’d like to do for her.

Because she’s Tifa. His Tifa.

“I promise you can pay for the next one,” she says, her lips curled in a smile. “Thank you for being so sweet.”

The flush burns in his cheeks. Okay. Maybe he’s not that bitter after all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tifa’s hand fits perfectly in his. He never gets tired of reminding himself of that fact. She clings to him as they leave the restaurant and walk towards his parked car, the night sky in its deepest shade of blue. Tifa carries starlight in her eyes as she turns to him, looking at him with her mouth twisted into a pouty frown.

“Are we going home already?”

_Oh my god she’s so fucking cute_.

Cloud clears his throat, fighting away the coming heart attack in his chest. “W—we don’t have to, if you don’t want to yet.”

Tifa takes both of his hands into hers, lacing their fingers and swinging their arms back and forth, her braid bouncing on her shoulder with the movements.

“I wanna spend more time with you.”

Ah, yes, there it is, the lovesick little boy in him squealing giddily in his mind. He tries his best to suppress him, but the shy smile sneaks onto his face, and he lowers his head, hoping the nightlight masks the color that’s inevitably blooming in his cheeks. Tifa leans closer to him, smiling toothily.

“You’re so cute,” she gushes.

Okay. Okay, _please_ , don’t pass out, not right now.

“Wh—where do you wanna go? A late movie?”

Tifa hums. “Not really.” She looks to her left, where the street is, barren at this time of night with only a couple of cars trickling down every now and then. Her face is highlighted in the orange glow of streetlamps, the contours basked in dark shadows.

She tugs him forward, and he’s confused when she begins to run. He’s surprised she can even manage a run in those heels.

“Come on!”

“Where are you going?!”

Tifa makes him cross the street, and then, they sprint past a fence and into a tiny park. It’s beaten and rundown, the metal of the slide and swings chipped and rusted from the brunt of weather and time. Trees bare and stripped of their life are scattered around, withering as winter unleashes its full wrath upon the world. There’s a lake in the middle of it all, surrounded by grass that’s, surprisingly, a flourishing, bright green. Tifa lets go of his hand, skips towards the playground, kicking up wood chips and dirt as she settles onto a swing.

Cloud only smiles at her as she begins to jut her legs forward, gaining speed and momentum.

“Cloud, push me!”

He gets behind her, is gentle as he places his palms on her back and helps her propel forward. Tifa flies high in the sky, the satin of her skirt fluttering like butterfly wings, her braid whipping back and forth. And she fills the trees with her laughter, ringing like bells against the lifeless bark. Cloud feels at peace, hearing her laugh, watching her enjoy herself. Her happiness is infectious, and she very well reminds him of a gleaming, glittering sun, bathing him in her warm, golden light.

It’s worrying, just how much he feels for her. How much he wants to hear that laugh for the rest of his life. And it’s silly. He knows it’s silly, because he’s a college student in his early twenties. He shouldn’t even be thinking about marriage or settling down or what person he sees himself being with for the rest of his life. In the beginning, it was only about being a well-behaved, diligent student, working hard for good grades.

Now, it’s about Tifa. Being with her. Laughing with her. Studying hard and being diligent students and reaching their goals together, with each other’s support.

He truly can’t believe she’s his girlfriend. It’s maddening.

“Aren’t you going to get on?!” she calls, her voice carried by the wind rushing past her. Cloud shakes himself out of his thoughts, realizing she’s high enough and he doesn’t need to push her anymore; if he does, she’ll probably fling off and crash into the trees.

“Swings aren’t my thing!” he calls back. He has a bit of a fear of heights, but he, of course, isn’t going to tell her that.

Eventually, Tifa begins to slow down, and she hops off the swing. She takes his hand, leads him to the slide, and the both of them are so big they barely fit in it. Of course, because they’re two adults, in a playground for children. This doesn’t deter Tifa; she laughs with all her heart, enjoys herself through and through.

Then, she leads him towards the lake. There’s a wooden bridge that connects the shore to a cabana that rests in the middle of the water. Cloud watches the breeze whisper over the water’s surface, stirring up gentle, rhythmic ripples. The breeze is especially heavy in the cabana; Tifa begins to shiver, and Cloud doesn’t think twice before shrugging off his (or Zack’s) blazer and draping it onto her shoulders. She looks at him, wide-eyed.

“Won’t you be cold?” She glances at the bareness of his arms in his t-shirt.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, hoping he sounds convincing. Tifa shakes her head, taking off the blazer and resting it on his shoulders. She tugs the collar together, smooths down the silk with her palms.

“Nope. I won’t let you catch a cold!”

Cloud sighs, although it’s more in elation than exasperation. He really can’t say no to her.

Tifa settles onto the bench, and he does, as well, so close to her that their arms and thighs are brushing. Immediately she rests her head onto his shoulder, her fingers playing with his, her form nearly melting against his. Cloud’s breath hitches in his throat, and he swallows thickly; Tifa smells like coconut shampoo, vanilla perfume, sweet and trilling pleasantly at his senses. He’s gentle, hesitant maybe, but the hand that isn’t in hers comes up, swiping across her forehead and tucking her fringe behind her ear. His fingers linger, pressed against her cheek, and she looks up at him, batting her lashes.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she tells him, her voice quiet. “I really like being with you, Cloud.”

He smiles softly, stammering a bit when he speaks.

“M—me too.”

Tifa leans in first, pressing her lips ever so gently against his. She tastes like strawberry gloss and safety, and his hand comes around the back of her neck as he goes in a bit deeper, kissing her with muted fervor. It’s slow and languid, holding none of the desperate and carnal desire their previous kisses had, and Cloud becomes pliant in her hold, liking the way her chest presses against his, the way her hands bunch into his sleeves. When he pulls back, panting for breath, she drops kisses onto his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, and the very tip of his nose, giggling at the little squeak that slips past his mouth without his permission.

“You’re adorable,” she tells him, and she comes back in to kiss him harder.

Cloud thinks that _she’s_ the adorable one, but he’d rather keep kissing her than argue with her.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnngg g gh.......,fluffy
> 
> thank u for reading <3
> 
> get u a man like cloud


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whenever i feel bad about myself or my writing i come back here and read your lovely amazing wholesome comments and instantly feel better. i can't thank y'all enough. i'm sorry i'm so bad at replying though i promise i will soon D:
> 
> please enjoy the sex

Tifa is, once again, coming over.

Cloud’s happy because he did a thorough, deep-cleaning of the apartment last night; that’s one less thing to worry about. He and Zack had cleaned together, moving to the rhythm of their favorite childhood tunes as they permeated the air in nostalgia and glee both. Cloud also cleaned up his entire bedroom, hung up and folded away clean clothes, threw dirty clothes into the wash; he straightened out the vomit of books and papers on his desk, and he finally fucking changed his bed sheet. He still cringes at the fact that Tifa, his beloved, beautiful Tifa, had to _sleep_ on that disgusting sheet. He’s a heathen. He’s a _barbarian_.

He hopes she likes lemon-scented detergent.

The knock on the door comes when the moon is at its highest; Cloud isn’t fond of this aspect of winter, the days shorter and the nights longer, the moon holding hostage the dark world beneath it. Tifa and Aerith bumble into the apartment, shivering with cold bitten into their cheeks and noses. Tifa gives Cloud a smile that reminds him of the sun he misses so dearly.

“Hi, sweetie.”

Sweetie. _Sweetie_. _She called him sweetie_. He’s going to faint. No, he absolutely cannot handle it. Tifa looks so cute, stuffed from head-to-toe in layers upon layers to shield herself from the unrelenting weather outside. She looks so small, so dainty, and he wishes he could just pick her up and put her in his pocket and keep her forever.

“H—hi,” he stammers lamely. Lame. He’s lame, even though she’s his girlfriend now. He reaches forward, unwinding the muffler from around her neck and hanging it next to her coat on the rack. He notices that there’s a plastic bag hanging from her fingers, a similar one in Aerith’s hold, as well. “What’s that?”

“Ingredients,” Tifa answers simply. Aerith comes towards him, holding up her bag.

“We’re cooking tonight!” she announces. “Because all you guys ever have is chips, fast food, and alcohol!”

“Can’t argue with that,” Zack says, shrugging.

It’s nice of them, Cloud thinks. If anything is ever being cooked in this apartment, it’s usually by him, because if left alone, Zack will probably end up burning the entire building down. If Cloud’s honest with himself, he isn’t much better; he’s barely able to throw together simple pasta and rice dishes, and it’s even worse when he’s busy with school and work. How his mom even allowed him to move out is beyond him. He’s a _mess_.

The girls go directly into the kitchen, and Cloud follows them, almost like a lost puppy. He lingers near Tifa, finding himself feeling safe and warm in her presence, bathed in her vanilla coconut scent; she has her hair in a loose ponytail, and she’s wearing his t-shirt, the one he had given to her after she spent the night here a few weeks ago.

That memory both delights and pains him, because it was the morning when they’d shared pure, shy kisses, when they promised they’d learn to love together. When she finally became his and he finally became hers. But it’d also been the morning when she’d showed up unannounced, when she’d looked so frail and sad, when her eyes were missing their normal sparkle, their brightness, their emotion. He doesn’t like thinking of that Tifa, a Tifa who hurts in quiet, who thinks she doesn’t deserve him. His Tifa, the Tifa he’s fallen so hard for, is sweet with sunny smiles, helpful and lovely and friendly and perfect. To him, she’s perfect.

And the fact that he hardly knows anything about _that_ Tifa, the dull-eyed, hurting Tifa, terrifies him.

“Excuse me,” someone says. Aerith. It’s Aerith, and she’s in front of him, waving around a wooden spoon. “Sir, if you’re not going to help, then please leave my kitchen.”

Cloud frowns. “It’s my kitchen—”

“It’s mine!” Aerith yells. “I can’t cook in peace with you staring at me!”

Was he staring? Oops. He should have been staring at Tifa, for fuck’s sake. Tifa laughs, a tinkling bell behind her hand.

“Let him stay,” Tifa says. “He’s cute.”

_Oh god Tifa just called him cute._

A tiny smile ingrains itself into his mouth. Heh. Tifa thinks he’s cute.

“Fine,” Aerith sighs. From the counter she grabs a tomato, shoving it into Cloud’s chest. “Make yourself useful and chop this, please.”

Cloud hates Aerith. Cloud especially hates Chef Aerith, whom he has met many times before in this kitchen. But he supposes he should make himself useful. Tifa’s chopping up some carrots and onions, and he doesn’t want to let her do all the work on her own. He stands next to her, takes his own cutting board and knife from the cabinet, and begins cubing up the tomatoes.

“What are we making?” he asks.

“Some Italian pasta dish that Aerith knows the name of,” Tifa says. “It’s really good, though. Aerith made it for me at my house once, when my mom was—”

Tifa stops short, as if braking at her words. Cloud leers at her, and he can’t read her expression. He wants to press, but he’s not sure if he has the right to. The last thing he wants is to make her uncomfortable or overstep his boundaries.

In the end, he doesn’t ask. Idly, he wonders if it’s a mistake.

“I’m sure it’ll be incredible.”

Tifa gives a strained smile, and she says nothing in response.

**.**

**.**

**.**

That pasta was, quite possibly, the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth (besides Tifa, of course). Sure, his undying affection for Tifa was the main culprit behind his enjoyment of the dish; he’s going to like anything she cooks because it’s her. He’s not even going to acknowledge Aerith’s participation because she’s annoying and she kicked him out of the kitchen after he dropped a box of dry pasta all over the floor.

(He deserved to be kicked out, but still).

After his third serving, Zack groans, setting his empty plate onto the coffee table. “Can you guys come cook for us, like, every week?”

Aerith playfully slaps him upside the head. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Zack nods, resting his head on Aerith’s shoulder. “That’s fair.”

Tifa gets up, taking Cloud’s plate and her own, and she begins to reach for Zack’s and Aerith’s, as well. “I’ll go do the dishes.”

She’s so _nice_. Why is she so nice? How can someone be _so nice_?

“No,” Cloud says. “It’s okay. Zack’s gonna do the dishes.”

Tifa looks at Zack, who’s molded into Aerith’s side, splayed out and unmoving.

“He looks like he’s in a coma.”

“He is,” Aerith confirms, her fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “Food coma. Don’t worry about the dishes. You were tired, right? You should go rest.”

Tifa nods. “Yeah, I’m a little tired.”

Her hand snakes into Cloud’s, and she pulls him up, and something about the gesture tells him that she isn’t really _that_ tired.

Oh no. _Oh no_.

Cloud, gladly at her beck and call, follows her into his bedroom, his eyes mesmerized by the sway of her hips, back and forth with her bouncing ponytail. Tifa locks the door right as it’s shut behind them, and then, she grabs him, pulls him in for a kiss. Cloud’s lying if he says he isn’t flooded in relief at the action; he’s been wanting this all day, ever since she told him she’d be sleeping over tonight. His dreams have been full of her and the dips and curves of her body, the way she moans his name, tender and wanting. The feel of her hands, the taste of her skin and mouth; she’s his and entirely his to have, and the thought of it drives him mad.

Tifa’s also a bit mad with her kisses, her tongue breaking through the seam of his lips to go in and explore. Her hands are greedy as they grab at his hair, pull him flush against her; he can feel every curve against him, the swell of her breasts through her shirt, _his_ shirt. He palms at them, groaning a bit at the restrictive padding of her bra.

He pulls back, and he’s quick to get her t-shirt off. Her bra is next, and he fumbles a bit with the hook. Why is it like rocket science? Come _on_ , Cloud, you can do it. Tifa laughs before reaching behind herself to aid him in unclasping the hook. Her bra comes undone, and his eyes shamelessly feast on the sight. Through and through, he’s a Boob Guy. And Tifa’s boobs are truly incredible. Magnificent. Outstanding. _Perfect_.

He’s still wondering how the _fuck_ he got so lucky.

He cups both breasts in his hands, his fingers tweaking with her nipples, relishing the way the skin pebbles immediately under his touch. Tifa lets out a tiny, breathy whine, her eyes glazed over and muddled in lust. The flutter of her lashes, the beginnings of a dark flush on her cheeks, the part of her bruised lips; Cloud drinks in the sight, commits each and every detail to memory.

“Y—you like that?”

She nods, her hands coming around his wrists. “Mm. Feels good.”

Those words affect him so drastically he very nearly comes right here and now.

She comes back to capture his lips, her kisses longing, wanton. She breaks apart barely enough to tug his shirt over his head, throwing it into some faraway corner. Then she pushes him forward, and he loses his footing, tumbling with a loud thump onto the bed.

Tifa, as she climbs on top of him, giggles. “You’re so cute.”

Her lips swallow any answer he had, and it’s not like he’s really able to articulate any coherent thought. Tifa, straddling him, the warmth of her core brushing the tent in his pants. It drives him manic, the layers of fabric between them, how close but still so far she is. She takes her time, peppering kisses down his jaw and onto his neck, suckling marks that Zack will surely make fun of him for later. Not that he cares; the perfect and wonderful Tifa Lockhart is giving him love bites. He’s not going to fucking complain.

Cloud tries to reach any skin he can, mapping it underneath his palms, her arms, her waist, her spine, dragging his fingertips down the arched curve of it. Tifa shudders above him, humming against his throat as she moves her hips on him, egging on the fire already raging in his core. He’s wound up taut, and there’s not much more he can take. The warmth of her, the softness of her kisses, her hands on him, her hips rolling against him; he wants her, and he feels it inexplicably in his bones, a deep, visceral ache within the pit of his stomach.

“Tifa, please,” he says, nearly whimpering the words. “I want you.”

Tifa straightens herself on top of him, her fingers splayed against his abdomen, tracing the slight indents of the muscles. “What do you want?”

She’s evil. She’s going to make him say it. He opens his mouth to speak, but he breaks off into a moan that’s embarrassingly loud as she grinds into him again, the back and forth of it torturous.

“I want…” he breathes, his fingertips digging into her thigh. “Wanna be inside you.”

He doesn’t have the time to berate himself for being so fucking _needy_ before he’s distracted by Tifa moving off him. He instantly misses her touch, but he’s happy to watch her strip down, throwing away her sweatpants and panties with urgency. She gets his pants and briefs off as well, and she crawls back onto the bed, on her hands and knees, and the sight of it has his toes curling, his cock twitching in excitement and anticipation both.

“Condom?”

He gets up, and he’s just as urgent as her as he pulls open the drawer of his bedside table, nearly ripping the wood off its hinges. He sifts through the contents, random papers and old trinkets he doesn’t need anymore. But what he wants does not come into his view. He frowns, his brow crunching together as he tries to think back. What did he do with the condoms Zack gave him? He had some. He knows he did. He had them when he’d been going to see Tifa all those times, just in case anything happened between them.

Anything like _this_. _This_ , right now. He’d been prepared all those times, and nothing happened. Now, when they actually want to have sex and need the protection, he’s unprepared.

This _sucks_. This is fucking _stupid_. This is bullshit. The universe is mocking him.

“Hold on,” he says, and he looks through his desk drawers. Nothing. He goes into his closet and checks the pockets of the pants he has worn recently. Nothing. He even checks his wallet.

Nothing. Fucking nothing.

“Uh,” he begins, looking at Tifa. His mind is cleared blank by the image of Tifa, naked and sweaty and ready, spread out over his bed. “So…”

“You don’t have any?” she asks, and he doesn’t miss the disappointment in her voice.

“Uh, no,” he says, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I thought I did, but…”

“Does Zack have any?”

Cloud’s very sure that Zack has some. But does he really want to go ask his best friend for some condoms when he has a _very bad_ erection?

Tifa’s eyes are trained directly on said erection, and she bites her lip.

“You know what?” she says. “Just fuck me. Please.”

Who is he to deny her of what she wants? She barely finishes speaking before he’s on her, caging her beneath his limbs as he kisses her messily, her tongue tangling with his. Her legs come around his waist, pulling him into her, and he groans into her mouth, feeling dizzy. His head is spinning, warped entirely in Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, the honey-dipped husk of her voice, the blatantly needy way she rubs herself against him. She’s hot and wet and he can feel her lips against the head of him, and he almost can’t take it.

“This is…okay?” he asks. “You’re okay?”

She nods, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Yeah. Are you okay?”

Cloud hesitates a bit, and he doesn’t know why. He wants this. He wants her so much it aches. But he’s kind of a virgin, and he’s kind of never done this before. Well, he’s done some things before, with his ex-girlfriend, Jessie. He has some kind of experience, but he’s never really had actual sex before.

And he hates himself for even thinking of Jessie when Tifa’s right here, under him, wet and ready for him. He takes a deep, deep breath, his lungs soaking in her scent, vanilla mixed with the salt of her sweat, and he looks her in the eyes. Shimmering pools of red, like roses, like blood, catching the brilliant silver of the moon. Her skin is washed out in night colors, and he thinks she looks so beautiful, her hair spread all around her like little rivers of black silk. He doesn’t know why, but his hand comes forward, cupping her cheek, his thumb tender as it strokes her cheek.

He loves her. Terribly, deeply, wholly.

“I’m okay,” he says.

She nods. He takes his cock into his hand, readies himself at her entrance; he enters her in one swift, fluid motion, her walls welcoming him openly. And he sighs, his brain melting into pure mush in his skull, his lids falling closed as he grips his lemon-scented bed sheet for dear life.

 _Tight_. She’s tight. Hot and tight and wet, and he has to calm himself, to remind himself how to breathe, to stop himself from ending this before it’s even started. His heart is racing so hard it’ll leap right out of his chest, and Tifa moans under him, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Her walls flutter, and she gets even tighter around him, and he’s honestly unsure if he can handle it.

“Cloud,” she whines, her legs snug around him. “Move. Please.”

He pulls out, slow and grueling, and he sinks back into her, the force of it causing the headboard to thud very, _very_ loudly against the wall.

Tifa freezes. Cloud freezes, staring at her with bated breath. He’d forgotten that Zack and Aerith are literally a few feet away, in the living room.

A telltale, obnoxious laugh is heard, muffled through the door, and Cloud lets go of the breath he’d been holding. Okay. Okay, that means they didn’t hear. If they did, Cloud and Tifa would probably hear a lot of whistling, hollering, and annoying innuendos.

Under him, Tifa fidgets. “Cloud, they’re gonna hear us.”

It takes all of his control to slide out of Tifa at this moment. He gets up, his hand reaching for a stray pillow near Tifa’s head. He stuffs the pillow between the headboard and the wall, then shakes the headboard back and forth as a test. It’s working, but the side without the pillow is still making too much noise.

“Take this.” Tifa reaches under her head and pulls at the pillow. He frowns at her.

“No. I’m not gonna fuck you when you don’t even have a pillow under your head. I’m not a monster.”

Tifa laughs, hearty and loud.

Cloud looks around the room. He doesn’t have any other pillows, because he isn’t really a fan of having too many of them on his bed. He notices the sweatpants he’d been wearing before Tifa discarded them; he bends over, grabs them, and bunches them into a mangled ball. He jams the pants behind the headboard, just like the pillow on the other side. This seems to have solved the thudding problem, but he sure hopes the pillow and the pants don’t fall.

Under his breath, he grumbles, “This sucks.”

The shit he has to do just to be able to have sex with Tifa. Unbelievable.

Meanwhile, Tifa, looking beautiful and gorgeous and amazing, has rolled onto her belly, looking at him with her chin propped on her palm, with her crossed ankles swinging back forth behind her. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“I think we’re good now.”

Yes. He sincerely hopes so.

He’s annoyed that they were interrupted, but he’s more than glad to pick where he left off. Tifa stays laying on her stomach, and she lifts her hips from the bed, on her knees as she rests her cheek on her pillowed arms. The arch of her back, the lazy way in which she looks at him, the near innocent pout of her lips; Cloud feels himself going crazy, wondering just how in the world he’s able to have her all to himself. If the thudding headboard incident had diminished even the slightest amount of excitement within him, he doesn’t know it. He’s hard, painfully so, and she’s arched and ready for him to take.

He drapes himself over her, gently picking up her hair and moving it to the side, freeing the skin for his kisses. He showers her in them, the back of her ear, down to her neck and shoulder, suckling lightly on the junction when the limbs meet. She wiggles her hips under him, the action impatient.

“Cloud, please,” she moans. “Fuck me. Please.”

Here is where he decides he exists solely to please Tifa Lockhart, the Most Perfect Person in the World.

He enters her, fits snug inside of her, and she sighs, reaching behind her to bury her hand in his hair. His head is ducked into her shoulder as he begins to move, his thrusts slow and nearly experimental at first. He’s conscious of her and the way she clenches around him, not wanting to make a move that might be uncomfortable or painful for her.

“Is this good?” he asks, thrusting up and into her. She nods, quick and desperate.

“Yes, yes, Cloud, please, _keep going_.”

Cloud’s breath gets ragged, puffing out of him and painting Tifa’s skin. Her voice is caught around his name as if she can say nothing else, breathless and whining; he sets a steady rhythm, sliding in and out at a quick but rolling pace, hoping she feels every inch of him inside her. He reaches as far as he can, staggers a bit when she tightens around him, her knees buckling. He begins to lose his rhythm, mad with her and the feel of her around him, the wetness, the softness, the warmth; he _really_ can’t bear it, and he fights off the tight coil that so desperately wants to unravel inside of him.

“Cloud,” she moans, muffled against the pillow as she grips the case so hard her knuckles go white. Cloud leans his palm over the back of her hand, eases her grasp so he can hold her instead. “Cloud, fuck, please, I—”

Her voice breaks off into a whine as he slides entirely out of her. She wriggles, looking at him with the most devastated eyes he’s ever seen.

“Cloud, _why_?”

“Sorry,” he mutters. He needs to resurface for a bit, because he wasn’t about to lose himself within her so quickly. Something about him having his release before her doesn’t quite sit well with him; he wants to please her, to watch her as she writhes and falls to pieces under him. He’s gentle as he beckons her to turn around, and soon, she’s on her back, and he hooks her knees onto his elbows, bringing her legs high, nearly meeting her shoulders.

And as soon as he sheathes himself inside her, he realizes that this was a mistake.

 _Tight tight tight tight_. With her legs up, she’s even tighter around him, and she throws her head back, her hands digging into his biceps.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ , please, _fuck_.”

He begins thrusting in and out, the stretch of her body wet and welcoming. He tries his hardest to focus on her, her face, her hands, the way she reacts to him, and not his own pleasure. He reaches down between them, thumbs at her clit in the way he knows she likes. And this drives her wild, and she arches her back, moving her head back and forth, her nails biting into the skin of his shoulders.

“Cloud, _Cloud_ , _oh my god_ , I’m gonna—”

Tifa comes with a broken yell, and he ignores her walls clenching around him, instead focuses on the way her thighs tremble, her mouth falling open, her face bled in a heated flush. Her fringe is matted to her forehead in sweat, and he rubs at her clit, thrusts inside her, makes sure to work her through her high, to string her along as far as possible. He dips down to lick and suck at her nipples, and he likes the erratic thrumming of her heartbeat against his lips. She’s falling apart right under him, and he basks in the feeling.

It gets even more difficult to fight off his orgasm. Soon he lets the pleasure overtake him, trapping him in its clutches as he thrusts inside her one more time before withdrawing and spilling all over her stomach. Cloud doesn’t register it, not at first, the rush of bliss that consumes him, the sated singing of his veins, the way he can manage nothing but to say her name, over and over and over. His breathing is harsh and laborious, and his body is trembling all over, his arms struggling to hold him up. He feels satisfied. Elated. Heady in the aftermath of his release, stars in his eyes and tremors in his throat.

He looks down, at Tifa’s wide eyes, and instantly, he’s flooded in a wave of horror.

“S—sorry!” he stammers, quick to get up. “I’m sorry!”

Tifa shakes her head. “It’s okay.” She laughs about it. “Better here than inside me, I think.”

He agrees with that. Still, maybe he should have asked for her permission before making a mess on her abdomen. He gets on his feet, his knees still a bit shaky from his orgasm.

“I’ll get a towel.”

He looks around for his sweatpants, quickly remembers that he used them to muffle the noise of the headboard. He’s horrified to find both the pants and the pillow on the floor. He’d been so caught up in the act that he didn’t even notice, didn’t even pay attention to any thudding.

Oh no. _Oh god_. Zack and Aerith are never going to let him hear the end of this.

Cloud tries to step outside as quietly as possible, to sneak past the loving couple in the living room and get to the bathroom in peace.

It doesn’t work. He fails.

“Hey there, stud!” Aerith coos. “Congrats on the sex!”

 _Oh god_. Cloud very well might start screaming. Or crying. Or both.

“You got laid!” Zack yells. “I’m so proud of you! They grow up so fast!”

“The last virgin of our group finally got laid!”

Zack pauses. “Are you honestly trying to tell me that _Vincent_ isn’t a virgin?”

Aerith blinks. “I don’t think he is.”

“Oh, so now you’re just lying to my face?”

“Shut up! He isn’t a virgin!”

“How much do you wanna bet that he is?!”

Cloud groans. He doesn’t know how he has managed not to murder both of them yet.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tifa decides to be studious right from the morning. Cloud doesn’t mind that much; they do have to get that essay for World Cultures done. Writing it with Tifa in his bedroom is probably a million times better than writing it on his own. It’s not that he’s uninterested in other cultures; he’s not. He quite likes learning about cultures different from his. The part that pains him is having to pay attention to prose and grammar, to reach the five-page limit, to worry about what this essay might do to his somewhat-okay grade right now. Lectures and grades really do dampen the normal pleasure he gets from learning new things.

Maybe he shouldn’t complain. He does get to witness Tifa on his bed, lying on her belly, wearing nothing but his t-shirt. The hem of it hikes a bit too high on her thighs, and he’s trying _so hard_ not to stare at her ass.

It’s not working. He’s failing miserably. How can he focus on Mideel culture when Tifa is _right there_ , being lovely and wonderful and so, so beautiful?

“Are you working hard?” she asks, nearly sings the question as she clicks away at the keyboard of her laptop. Cloud frowns. He has about a page done. Meanwhile, Tifa’s gushing out paragraphs and paragraphs like it’s child’s play to her.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” she says, turning to him. “You haven’t written a single word in, like, an hour.”

Cloud sighs, pushing away his laptop and falling back, his upper body molding against the headboard. “I don’t like writing.”

Tifa gives him a peck on his lips, quick but still dousing him in a wave of warmth, a thick sweetness that settles on his tongue.

“I’ll reward you if you write one more page.”

That taste of her lips leaves him feeling longing, greedy, and he leans in to kiss her again.

“Can you give me some incentive?”

Tifa rolls her eyes, but she does push her laptop to the side, turning towards him.

“You’re so annoying.”

Cloud feels victorious when she moves into his lap, straddling him and pulling him in for a kiss. He’s very much distracted by the bareness of her form under his shirt, and his hands dip under the cotton, palming her breasts and pinching her nipples between his fingers. Tifa, into his mouth, sighs, and the rolling of her hips, the heat of her core against his sweatpants, the swell of her body against his, everything sets him on fire, and he absolutely could not care less about the essay right now.

Thankfully, this time, they don’t have to be too quiet or careful. Zack and Aerith are still asleep, and when they are, they’re practically dead. No headboard thudding to worry about.

Tifa lifts his shirt over her head, and as soon as she does, his mouth is on her, his tongue tracing paths along the indent of her collarbones and the valley between her breasts. He takes her nipple into his mouth, sucks and sucks and watches as her brow furrows, her teeth worrying her lip between her teeth, her moans like music to his ears.

Too bad the vibrating of a phone interrupts him.

“Hold on,” she says, and the instant change of her demeanor and expression concerns him. She’s suddenly sober, and she reaches for her smartphone, which had been strewn near her laptop. “I have to check this.”

Cloud nods, although he’s pretty distracted by the fact that she’s naked and straddling him while he has a very prominent erection. But he waits for her because he’s not an asshole; he watches her as she taps at the touch screen of her phone, his hands rubbing soothing circles into the skin of her thighs.

Tifa’s expression contorts, dark lines and creases, and he becomes even more concerned.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she dismisses, a bit too easily for his liking. She sighs as she drops her phone onto the bed. “It was my little sister.”

Right, Tifa has a little sister. He vaguely remembers her mentioning that once a long while ago. Marlene, her name was? Cloud’s unsure because Tifa doesn’t actually talk about her home life all that much. Really, she barely talks about it at all. The passing mention of her mother last night surprised him, but the fact that she cut herself off right after didn’t.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.” Tifa plays with her nails, picking at the chipped polish on them. “She, um, was telling me what’s going on at home.”

Part of him wants to spare her, to not press her, to let her be. But a more logical part of him tells him that he should ask. He should because he’s prepared for whatever she’s willing to share with him. She’s his girlfriend, and he’s her boyfriend, and it confuses him, how little he knows about her home life and family.

How little he knows about her. _That_ Tifa.

“What’s going on at home?” When she turns her head away from him, he follows her, trying to keep his hold on her eyes. “Teef, is everything all right?”

“Yes, Cloud,” she says, her tone a bit clipped. She moves off his lap, slips back into the shirt she’d been wearing. Stray strands of her hair fall into her eyes, and he watches her as she smooths them back, tucks them behind her ears.

“You can talk to me,” he says. “I’m always here for you.”

Tifa’s shoulders fall, as if her entire body deflates. The harshness of her brow melts into a soft, wide-eyed frown.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry.”

“It’s just…” She avoids his eyes, instead staring at her twiddling thumbs, as if restless. Cloud reaches out, drapes his palm over the back of her hand, and right away, she threads his fingers with hers, the tips of them stroking at his knuckles. “My parents fight. A lot. I don’t remember a single time during my childhood when they _weren’t_ fighting.”

Cloud nods, thinking that he should let her speak. He doesn’t even know what he should say.

“Marlene tells me what’s going on at home,” Tifa continues. “Remember when I came over at, like, four in the morning and slept over? They’d fought really badly that night. I was worried about Marlene, so I rushed home.”

There is a light tremor just beneath her words; she tries to hide it, to clear her throat, to swallow the lump that’s no doubt forming. But Cloud likes to think he can read her, can understand all her expressions and mannerisms. She looks like she’s in pain, and he can see it from the shiftiness of her eyes, the tight clutch of her hand on his.

“I can’t help but feel like I abandoned her.”

Cloud opens his mouth, but anything he was about to say gets lost in the flurry of Tifa’s next words and movements.

“Ah, I’m sorry! Never mind all that! Let’s finish the essay, okay?”

She grabs her laptop, starts hastily typing on the keyboard, and something bitter settles into Cloud’s chest. Something hollow, echoing through his chest. She’s his girlfriend. They’re boyfriend and girlfriend who go on dates, who have sex, who hold each other and smile at each other and laugh with each other. He’d been yearning for her for an entire year before he finally got her to be his. She’d been his friend first, beautiful and smart and too kind for her own good. He’d fallen for her warm, golden smile, the way the sun rose in the rubies of her eyes, the gentle way in which she spoke to him, made him feel included, made him feel less like a loser, less alone.

“Tifa—”

“It’s okay, Cloud. Let’s drop it. Please.”

And Cloud, right now, feels particularly devastated. Because really, he doesn’t know her. Not at all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is vincent a virgin find out on the next episode of dragon ball z
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys. this chapter. kicked my ass. i don't know why, but i had the absolute worst case of writer's block. so i sincerely apologize if this chapter sucks balls. 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy it regardless. and again, thank you all for your support and sweet comments!!! you're incredible T^T

December means the beginning of the holiday season, when the world shakes off its discontent for the cold weather and comes alight in cheer and rainbow lights and shopping (a _lot_ of shopping). Cloud’s indifferent about the holidays; the only thing that excites him about them is going back home and having a nice, fancy dinner with his mom. Tifa said that she wants to join him for that dinner, and his heart swelled in his chest, so much so that it nearly gave out.

On campus, December means all the students begin to give up. The end of the semester inches closer and closer, and slowly, everyone begins to lose their drive. Cloud included, although he’s barreling forward only because of Tifa’s good, studious influence on him. His friends are bathed to the brim in assignments and upcoming exams. And Aerith is always particularly busy during this time; she is on the Student Government Committee, after all.

“Aerith did a great job, didn’t she?”

Cloud nods. Tifa’s excitement is punctuated by her wide smile, the rosiness of her cheeks, the fluttering of her pretty lashes. She hangs onto his hand as she tugs him along with her, weaving through the thick crowd of students. The building is filled to the brim with students, and Cloud finds it suffocating, to slip and maneuver his way through the many bodies. This is one of the better events on campus, Cloud thinks, a winter carnival full of games and fun put together by the Student Government. He doesn’t always go to events, but this one is fine. It’s okay. Tifa’s smile and the gleeful bounce of her step make it even better.

“What should we do?”

Cloud shrugs. “Not sure. Play a game?”

Tifa looks around, scans the many booths set up around the room. She points to one in the corner, one without a very long queue, unlike the others.

“That one!”

She pulls him forward. This booth has a basketball hoop, and the student manning it hands him a basketball.

“Score at least ten in a row and you’ll get a prize!”

Cloud looks at the shelf above him. Perched on it are many, many stuffed animals, ranging from birds to cats to elephants. He hears a gasp next to him, and he looks at Tifa, the clasp of her hands, the way her eyes are wide and glimmer like a ruby sea of stars.

“That penguin is so cute…”

Cloud isn’t really good at basketball. Or sports in general, really. Zack always makes fun of him for that. But now, it’s his life goal to score at least ten points here, because Tifa wants the stuffed penguin. And fuck, he’s going to get her the stuffed penguin, because she’s Tifa, and he loves her, and it’s his purpose in life to serve her. He’s praying his stupid, clumsy hands and horrible aim don’t fail him now.

“Good luck, sweetie!”

Cloud’s doused in the energy and will of a madman. Tifa called him sweetie. _Sweetie_. He still isn’t used to those terms of endearments, still really isn’t used to the fact that she, perfect and lovely in every way, is the girlfriend of a dunce like him. He raises his arms, holding the basketball firm, and at the student’s signal, he throws.

He misses. _God_ , he misses so badly that the student has to duck away from the ball.

This is horrible. He’s horrible. Horrible and stupid and incompetent. He’s an embarrassment. Tifa’s probably contemplating breaking up with him now.

“Aw, that’s okay!” Her palm slides down his back, and the touch is meant to be soothing, but it riles him up even further, pulls his muscles taut. “We can play something else.”

“ _No_ ,” he says, nearly hisses the word. He looks at the student behind the booth. “Give me another chance.”

“It’s five gil per round now,” the student answers.

That’s robbery, Cloud thinks. But he doesn’t have time to worry about that; his hand is already stuffing itself into his pocket. Out he takes the crumpled bills, and he slams them onto the booth in front of him. The student gives him the basketball, and he readies himself to shoot. He will get Tifa that stuffed penguin, goddamn it. He _will_. He’ll do it for her.

“Mind if I take a shot at it?”

Cloud’s perplexed at the sound of the new voice. He turns his head, and he’s faced with someone he really didn’t expect to see nor want to see.

_Rufus Fucking Shinra._

“Oh…” Tifa’s voice is low, deflated, almost. “Hi, Rufus.”

Rufus Shinra. What the fuck is he doing here? Who said he could come here? Who invited him? Cloud’s vision sweeps over the man’s form: Gucci coat. Perfectly gelled and styled hair. A smug smirk hanging at the corner of his mouth, his gaze unfriendly, demeaning, almost. He looks at Cloud as if Cloud is a thorn in his side, a nuisance. A being beneath the dirt of his feet.

Okay, well, maybe that’s a little dramatic. Still, Cloud fucking hates this guy. He hasn’t forgotten the way Rufus kept chasing Tifa despite all of her rejections, the way he cornered her against a wall and make her uncomfortable. Who said it was okay for him to approach them?

He takes the ball from Cloud’s hands. Entitled, as rich people always are. And Cloud does nothing in response, because he’s Cloud. Stupid. Awkward. Too anxious for any type of confrontation. He really doesn’t like confrontation, doesn’t like the bile that rises into his throat, the anxiety whirling like a storm in his chest. He just lets Rufus take the ball, lets Rufus shove him a bit to the side as he begins throwing the ball towards the hoop.

He makes each shot. Every single one.

“That’s ten!” the student announces happily. “Pick anything from the shelf.”

“The penguin, please,” Rufus says. The student nods, and she reaches up, grabbing the desired penguin. She gives it to Rufus, and Rufus, immediately, turns to Tifa, holding it out.

There is a frown marred in Tifa’s expression. She keeps her arms crossed.

“Um, that’s sweet of you,” she says. “I appreciate it, but I can’t take it.”

Rufus takes Tifa’s hand, unwinding her arms from her chest, and he presses the penguin gently into hold.

“A gift,” he says. “Please, accept it.”

Tifa sighs, but she relents. She reaches forward, taking Cloud’s hand in hers. She does not thank Rufus.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go play something else.”

Cloud doesn’t register her hand in his, her voice in his ears. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. This rage, this fury, it’s all consuming, red hot in his eyes, blazing all down his veins in liquid fires. There’s a restlessness that swirls deep in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at all of his nerves. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like the way he feels, this disgusting mixture of wrath, jealousy, and sadness.

Sadness. He’s sad? Why is he sad? It’s cold in his heart, a cage of ice around his lungs. Why is he sad?

Rufus Shinra. Handsome, tall, smart, rich, good at basketball. He’s everything Cloud isn’t, and everything Tifa deserves.

Cloud’s angry. And he’s jealous. And most of all, he’s sad.

Outcast. Loner. Weirdo. Loser. _Loser, loser, loser_.

“Cloud?” Tifa’s voice is gentle, rose petals softly grazing his ears. Her hand in his is comforting, her small, ghostly smile like peace.

“Let’s go,” he says.

When he begins to walk away, he doesn’t even look Rufus’ way, much less acknowledges his presence. But Rufus makes himself known, grabbing Cloud’s shoulder and causing him to halt in place. His words drill into Cloud’s ears, low and cold and menacing, but Cloud shakes him off, rushing forward to catch up with Tifa. He does not look back.

Rufus is gone, but his words, they still linger, echoing through Cloud’s head like a bad joke, like an unrelenting spirit. Like a harsh, undeniable truth.

_You don’t deserve her._

**.**

**.**

**.**

The event ends late into the night, near the early hours of morning. Students trickle out, tired from the dancing and games and alcohol (of course, college students sneak in alcohol anywhere they can). Tifa, Cloud, and Zack stay behind to help Aerith and her other Student Government members clean up the mess. Garbage strewn about, streamers and decorations that could not quite survive the long hours, Cloud kneels on the floor, grabbing things and dropping them into the nearby garbage bag. Tifa’s next to him, gently picking off the wall tinsel, wreaths, and lights, anything that can be put away and saved to be used another day. She places everything into a large box, singing idly and quietly under her breath as she does.

Cloud hasn’t really spoken to her in hours, ever since Rufus gave her that penguin. He’d only hummed and nodded, lingered behind her as she played games and conversed with acquaintances. He’d held her hand, but his grip lost its normal tightness. And she’d noticed. He knows she did.

Once she saw Yuffie, she shoved that stuffed penguin into the other girl’s hold immediately.

“I don’t want this,” she’d said. “You can have it.”

Yuffie had thanked her excitedly, and that was all.

And yet, Cloud felt wounded. Humiliated. Embarrassed. He knows he shouldn’t, and he knows it isn’t Tifa’s fault. She doesn’t deserve this silent treatment, nor does she deserve his cold aura.

But he can’t help it. The rage won’t leave him, traps him in its heated clutches, digging its nails into his conscience. He’s angry. Every time he thinks about Rufus Shinra’s fucking stupid face, he gets even angrier. Rufus Shinra thinking he’s so great and high and mighty, winning the basketball game and giving Tifa the stuffed penguin she’d wanted. Who the fuck does he think he is?

And Cloud could do nothing. Could say nothing to Rufus. Just stood there and watched him. Had only walked away when he said those words, the ones that plague him like a sickness, the ones that really, really won’t go away no matter what he says or thinks.

_You don’t deserve her._

He doesn’t. Cloud knows he doesn’t deserve Tifa. Maybe those words bother him so much because they’re true. They’re true. He’s always wondering how he managed to get someone like her. Cloud’s an outcast. A weirdo. A loner. A loser. And Tifa’s too good for someone like him. Someone who’d wanted her for a year and couldn’t say anything. Someone who’s shy and awkward and antisocial. Someone who’s always been alone, who has never been liked by anyone, who has never really belonged anywhere.

Tifa deserves so, so much better than him.

“Finally!” Tifa heaves, and she drops the box of decorations onto the floor. “Done! I wonder if Zack and Aerith are done with the other room.”

Cloud only shrugs his shoulders, not finding himself able to speak.

“Cloud,” Tifa says, and the softness of her tone melts him, and instantly, he feels a sharp sting of guilt. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet all night.”

“I’m fine,” he says. He’s not convincing. Even he wouldn’t believe him.

“Is it about Rufus?”

“No.”

The rage. The jealousy. It all bubbles inside of him, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I don’t like him.”

“I know,” Cloud says, clipped and curt. He gets up, busying himself with tying up the garbage bag. “You told me that.”

“So, why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset!”

Cloud jerks away from her hand, which wanted to rest on his shoulder. Tifa pulls back, and the expression on her face devastates him. Dark. Blank. The light in her eyes burnt out. The smallness, frailness of her silhouette. She’s hurt and concerned, and it’s his fault. It’s all his fault.

_Stupid_.

“You don’t have to raise your voice,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sorry.”

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He’s so _stupid_. God, he’s an idiot.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. He’s stupid. He’s immature. He’s letting his emotions control him, and he’s lashing out at Tifa, for what? For what? Was he not just wallowing in his own despair because he’s convinced he doesn’t deserve her? And now, he’s arguing with her and being a big baby? Would Rufus Shinra do this to her too?

_Idiot_. _Idiot_. _Idiot_.

“I’m sorry, Tifa.”

Why is he losing to his insecurities?

“It’s okay,” Tifa says, but she doesn’t mean it. He knows she doesn’t. She turns away, and instantly, he searches for her eyes. He holds up his hands, and they float in front of her, wanting but hesitating. He messed up. He messed up, and now she’s sad, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Fucking _idiot_.

“I’m sorry.”

“I said it’s okay,” she says. She bends over to pick up the box of decorations. “Let’s go see if Aerith and Zack are done.”

Cloud wants to speak, but in the end, there’s nothing really to say. Zack and Aerith bumble into the room, laughing and bursting with energy, and that’s it.

That’s it.

_Stupid. Idiot._

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud is unsettled.

He’s unsettled deep in his core, ever since The Argument, three nights ago. That was the first argument of their relationship. Couples fight. They do. It’s natural. It happens. It’s okay. It should be okay. They can look past it. Other than that night, Tifa hasn’t really been any different around him, doesn’t seem to be harboring any negative feelings towards him. But that doesn’t stop the anxiety from chewing him alive, doesn’t stop the fretting that’s overtaken his every waking moment.

He'd already known that he doesn’t deserve her. Hearing Rufus say those exact words just solidifies it.

And to think, _she_ had been the one to think that she doesn’t deserve him. It’s mind-boggling, truly.

Weeks ago, they’d planned to get together to study for the final World Cultures exam. Cloud lingers outside her dorm room, an hour earlier than what they had agreed on. The anxiety was eating him alive, ebbing at his fingertips, and he needed to see her. He could not stand it, how much he wanted to see her.

The door opens. Tifa, in her tank top, shorts, and messy ponytail, her eyes wide, pools of blood that drown him. Her gaze drops down, at the item in his hands.

“Oh god,” she sighs, laughing a bit. The smile blooms prettily on her mouth, sunrise colors bled into her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

He holds the stuffed penguin out, and she takes it, affectionately petting at the artificial fur. It’s not the same one from the event, but it’s similar. And it’s really big and soft, and Cloud had stood in the store for about an hour, just holding the thing to his chest, savoring the velvet of the fur.

“I wanted to,” he says, and he knows his cheeks are flushed. Tifa presses the penguin to her chest, her hand coming out to take his.

“Thank you. You’re sweet.”

She pecks him quickly on the cheek, and the motion douses him in sweetness, and for a moment, the restlessness in his soul is quelled. Just for now.

Cloud walks into the room, slips off his shoes and shoves them against the wall. He looks at the emptiness of the room, and Tifa explains that Aerith is at her night class. Cloud normally comes to study or do homework with Tifa on Wednesdays, but he needs all the help he can get for the exam. Here he is, on a Monday night, many days before the exam, settling into bed with Tifa as she gets out her notebook, folder, and textbook.

But Tifa’s attention isn’t in the books. It’s on the stuffed penguin. She has it perched on her pillow, and she gently pokes at its beak, looking at it with a small smile curled into her mouth.

_Cute_. She’s cute. She’s so cute it pains him.

“Y—you like it?”

She hums. “Because you gave it to me.”

Oh no. _Oh no_. Can he die from an overload of cuteness? He just might.

“What should I name him?” Tifa asks. “He seems like a him, doesn’t he?”

Cloud nods. “Uh, I don’t know…”

“How about…” Tifa taps her finger on her chin, thinking really hard, it seems. “Sky?”

Makes sense. The fur of the penguin is a pale blue. It’s fitting.

“Cloud. Sky. It makes sense.”

Tifa gives a tinkling laugh, and Cloud is awestruck, his voice caught in his throat. It feels nice, hearing Tifa laugh. His soul feels lighter, his anxiety chased away for the moment. He stares at her, each and every detail of her face carved deep into his memory. She’s beautiful. Horribly, painfully so, like she belongs on billboards and magazine covers. Her laugh lingers in his dreams, a pleasant lullaby.

She looks at him, reaches out to smooth down the frown in between his brows.

“Don’t look so serious,” she jokes.

But it is serious, how in love with her he really is. He’s young. He’s stupid. He’s a loser, and he doesn’t deserve her, and he makes mistakes. And love, it’s a complicated thing. Love and relationships are fickle. Difficult puzzles to solve.

But if there’s one thing he’s absolutely, positively sure of, it’s that he loves her. Wholly, purely, unconditionally.

**.**

**.**

**.**

“Okay. Place your bets. Who here thinks Vincent is a virgin?”

Cloud rolls his eyes. Zack doesn’t seem to want to let this go. The man whose virginity is in question just sits quietly on the couch, his limbs splayed out, watching the scene with mild amusement flickering on the edge of his mouth.

“I do!” Reno yells, raising his hand. “He gives me virgin vibes!”

“I think he isn’t!” Yuffie screams in protest. “I believe in you, Vincent!”

“Okay,” Zack says. He turns to Tifa, his stare intent and focused. “Teef, how about you?”

Tifa only blinks. “Uh…”

“You guys are idiots,” Cloud grumbles.

“Oh,” Reno squawks. “So, now you think you’re all high and mighty just because you finally got laid, huh?!”

Cloud very nearly throws his smartphone at Reno’s head.

“Shut up!”

His cheeks are aflame, and he knows they’re a brilliant red. He isn’t a virgin anymore, and that information spread quickly within his tiny group of friends. He doesn’t mind it, and Tifa doesn’t mind it. But he didn’t really get to bask in the glory of Non-Virginhood because the memory, although incredible and pleasant, is marred. Tifa the morning after, her blank eyes, her sad eyes, the revelation that he doesn’t exactly know her all that well, the way her voice broke when she spoke of her little sister.

Cloud wants to ask. It’s been burning at the tip of his tongue for the past week, but he’s a coward. He’s deathly afraid of prodding her when she doesn’t want to be prodded. He’s deathly afraid of fucking up _again_.

He’s an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

God, love is hard. Relationships are hard. College is hard.

Vincent never actually answers the question about his virginity. He just follows Tifa into the kitchen, who wanted to go get drinks for everyone, to help her. Zack, Reno, and Yuffie launch into a shouting match, and Cloud ignores them, their voices like a muddled orchestra in his ears. He feels like his brain regresses every time he hears the three of them talk.

Aerith sits not too far away, not involved in the yelling but very entertained, nonetheless. Cushion squished against her chest, she turns her attention to Cloud, her expression expecting.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Cloud frowns. “What?”

“I sense that your inner peace is disturbed.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Did you and Tifa have a fight?”

Aerith is perceptive. Too much for her own good. Cloud hates this, being laid bare in front of her, stripped of his defenses. He busies himself by fiddling with his phone, but he still feels Aerith’s gaze on him, prickling at his conscience.

“No…”

“Liar.”

Cloud sighs. It’s something he doesn’t really want to talk about. It’s something he already thinks about every second of every day, Tifa’s quiet voice, her blank but hurt eyes. She was hurt. He’d hurt her, let his emotions and insecurities control him, took his own anger and jealousy of Rufus out on her. He fucked up. He’s a fuck-up. He’s an idiot. _Idiot_.

“Do…you and Zack fight?”

“Of course,” Aerith answers easily. “All couples do. It’s normal. But you have to remember to work through those fights. Communicate. Change your behavior. Commit to each other. That’s what Zack and I do.”

There Aerith goes again with the therapist talk. Cloud will never admit it aloud, but he quite appreciates Aerith’s words. She’s wise beyond her years, and sure, she fucking annoys him ninety percent of the time. But through and through, she’s his good friend, and he loves her. He’s grateful that he has her to talk to.

It’s here where he realizes that actually, he’s quite open with Aerith. They’re quite open with each other.

He isn’t even this open with Tifa. Tifa, his own girlfriend. The woman he’s in love with.

That’s a problem, he thinks. The anxiety has returned, harsher than ever, a catastrophic whirlwind in his chest. He hates this feeling, his mouth going dry, his fingertips going numb.

That’s a _very big_ problem.

Tifa and Vincent come out of the kitchen, bearing drinks for everyone. Tifa comes to Cloud, holding out a tall glass of fizzing, amber liquid.

“You wanted soda, right?”

Cloud, a bit dazed, a bit lost, nods, taking the glass of soda. He doesn’t drink it. Tifa settles next to him, curling into his side, her head leaning on his shoulder. He’s grateful for the touch, feels relieved and a bit calmer when he breathes in the spiced vanilla of her scent. Her hand searches for his, and they thread their fingers together, Tifa’s playing with the tips of his.

“Vincent told me he isn’t a virgin,” Tifa whispers to him.

Cloud supposes he’s happy that the Great Mystery has been solved.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud is, yet again, having a crisis.

His calculus exam is tomorrow. He’s sitting in the living room, papers and books strewn all about. Fuck math. He hates math. Why did he decide to pursue engineering? Who decided that math should be this complicated? Numbers, letters, the quadratic formula, limits? It’s horrible. It’s all horrible. December means the semester wrapping up, Christmas, and suffering. All suffering. He wishes Tifa was here to study with him.

Only Tifa is the source of the other crisis he’s having, one that never lets him rest. When he’d fallen for her, he didn’t think things would become so complicated. He didn’t think love and feelings and relationships could be so complicated. He’d thought that if she became his, all would be well. Everything would be fine.

It’s not. It’s not fine. On the surface, things are fine. They talk normally. They go on dates. They have sex. They should be fine.

But they’re not. They’re really not. Tifa had forgiven him for lashing out at her, but he can’t forget the way her face fell, the way she took back her hand after reaching for him. Her tiny, tiny voice when she’d told him he didn’t have to raise his voice.

_My parents fight a lot. I don’t remember a single time during my childhood when they weren’t fighting._

Had Cloud reminded her of her parents?

Stupid. Idiot. _Stupid_.

He’ll never know. Because Tifa doesn’t talk to him. Tells him nothing about her family and home life. All he knows is that she has a little sister and that her parents fight. That’s all. When she begins to say something, she cuts herself off, and she tries to change the subject. And he knows he’s not entitled to information. He knows. She doesn’t have to tell him anything she doesn’t want to.

But it bothers him, gnaws relentlessly at his mind. He hardly knows anything about her. His talks with Aerith are more intimate and deeper than his talks with Tifa.

He wants to know her. Inside and out. He wants to know what makes her _her_. Her passions. Her dreams. Her insecurities. Her traumas. Her childhood. He wants to know it all.

But does he deserve that? Does he deserve to know her inside and out?

No, he thinks. No, he doesn’t.

_You don’t deserve her._

Fuck Rufus. Fucking Rufus Shinra. Fuck him. _Fuck him_.

Cloud groans, throwing his textbook away. He knows he’s not going to get any studying done. His performance on the exam tomorrow will be left in the lord’s hands. He sits back on the couch, staring at the popcorn ceiling of the living room. Now would be a perfect time for Zack to show up with some alcohol. He’d love to get drunk, to let his mind be numb for just a little while.

The front door slams open, followed by loud, obnoxious yelling.

“Hey, fucker! I got some more alcohol!”

Thank _fucking_ god. Zack may be an idiot, but he’s always, always there for Cloud when he needs him.

“Thanks,” Cloud says, taking the bottle Zack holds out to him. Cloud doesn’t even bother to look at what it is. It takes all of his strength to screw the bottle open, and when he does, he tips it back, downing as much of it as he can before it’s unbearable. His esophagus burns, screams in pain, as the fire licks its way down his throat and into his stomach. Whatever this is, it’s _strong_ , and Cloud wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Perfect.

“Guess you quit studying?” Zack snickers. “Same here. I’m leavin’ it up to fate.”

Zack’s easygoing, doesn’t let grades get to him too much, isn’t studious, barely even goes to class. Cloud never wanted to be like him. Cloud wanted to be dedicated, to make his mom proud. Coming into college, all he wanted was to focus on himself and his studies.

Well, that plan went to absolute _shit_ , didn’t it?

“Fuck college,” Cloud grumbles, taking another swig of the bottle, grimacing when he does.

Zack lifts his own bottle, nods his head towards Cloud.

“Cheers to that!”

The rest of the night passes in yelling, laughter, more alcohol, and no studying.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud opens his eyes. Sun. The sun? Is the sun out? But wasn’t it just nighttime a couple of hours before? He’s confused, and he sees his world through blurred colors, and is he on the floor? His head and torso are. His legs are still on the couch. He’s hanging off the couch. Zack is lying face-down on the floor, groaning.

Whatever that alcohol was, it was fucking _strong_.

“Zack,” Cloud mumbles.

“What?” Zack’s voice is muffled by the carpet.

“Vincent’s not a virgin.”

Zack shoots up from the floor, his limbs flailing about as he goes barreling into the armchair. He’s in absolute distress.

“ _NO_!”

Cloud closes his eyes, and there’s only one thought on his mind before he goes back to sleep.

How is the sun up when the moon was _just there_ hours ago? It doesn’t make any sense.

**.**

**.**

**.**


	8. viii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy august! slipped some smut into this chapter so u guys could forgive me for the Angst
> 
> hope u enjoy <3

God. It’s a fucking miracle that Cloud was actually able to make it to his exam.

He’d woken up ten minutes before the start of the exam, with the mother of all hangovers throbbing in his skull. Seriously, what the fuck was that alcohol Zack brought home? It wiped both of them out in no time at all. Cloud was so smashed he vaguely remembers not understanding how sunrises work.

It’s also a fucking miracle that he and Zack are functioning human beings. Seriously, how have they made it this far in life?

Cloud didn’t even brush his teeth, didn’t even change out of his pajamas. He threw on a coat and some shoes and zipped out of the apartment, ran all the way down the street to campus. He’d arrived not on time but not so late that his professor wouldn’t let him in. He made it by the skin of his teeth.

He won’t even think about the actual contents of the exam. He’d almost began to cry at one point. It was _awful_.

Luckily, it’s over. He has gotten through it. He barely survived, but it’s fine. Now, he only has a couple of more exams to worry about. And then, the semester will finally come to an end, and he can learn to breathe easily again.

Tifa also had an exam at the same time as his calculus one, and she’d sent him a text message, asking him if he’d wanted to meet at the café after he was done. He’d agreed, because why wouldn’t he? He always wants to see Tifa.

The crisis he’s been having still lingers in his mind, rests eternally in a designated part of his brain. For now, he tries to shut that part down, quieting it as best he can. He should be focusing on his exams and his grades. He can’t fucking _believe_ he got drunk the night before his fucking calculus exam. What has his life come to?

“Cloud!”

Tifa calls out to him as soon as he enters the café. But what’s peculiar to him is that Tifa isn’t alone. She’s sitting at a table near the back of the room with a guy. A bald guy. Cloud doesn’t know why, but he’s cautious as he makes his way over. Tifa’s smile is the same, bright and sunny, and he notices two drinks in front of her. One is probably her favorite caramel macchiato. The other...

“I got you an iced coffee,” Tifa says, passing him the drink. He lingers stupidly by the table, standing and staring at the unfamiliar bald man. “Hope they didn’t put too much sugar.”

“Thank you,” Cloud says. He grabs the coffee, taking a sip; the caffeine is like heaven brushing over his groggy, hungover senses. He can’t focus on how sweet it was for Tifa to buy him his coffee because all he can do is look at this bald man. Who is he? Why is he sitting with Tifa? Cloud has never seen him before.

“Oh! Cloud, this is Rude, my lab partner in biochemistry,” Tifa explains. “Rude, this is my boyfriend, Cloud.”

“ _This_ is Cloud?” Bald Man Rude asks, his voice inflating a bit at the end. It’s now when Cloud realizes the haggard state he’s in. Pajamas with an overcoat; he didn’t even brush his teeth in the morning, much less shower and fix his hair. He’s annoyed and hungover and he probably looks every bit of the part right now.

He’s Tifa’s boyfriend. Tifa’s boyfriend is a disaster of a human being.

“Nice to meet you,” Cloud says. Rude gives Cloud a friendly smile as Cloud takes his seat next to Tifa.

“Likewise.”

“Did you just roll out of bed?” Tifa asks, giggling a bit as her fingers mess with his fringe, smoothing down the strands that are, no doubt, sticking up at odd angles. He wants to say that no, he didn’t, but that would be a lie. He also doesn’t want to tell her that he got drunk last night with Zack.

“Tifa’s told me a lot about you,” Rude says, sipping at his coffee.

“R—really?” Cloud looks at Tifa, clearing his throat.

“Yeah. Rude and I are actually pretty close.” Tifa sips her macchiato. “I talk to him about a lot of things.”

“And the professor yells at us for not working,” Rude adds, chuckling a bit. Tifa laughs with him.

“Yeah, well, Hojo is a jerk!”

They begin sharing anecdotes about their biochemistry labs, but their voices fade in Cloud’s head. His mouth goes dry, and the tips of his fingers are tingling. There’s that red-hot rage tickling at the edges of his vision, the disgusting storm brewing in his chest yet again. It’s the same as the night of the winter carnival; Cloud feels consumed in his emotions, misplaced rage and jealousy and sadness.

There it is, that sadness. It’s paralyzing. It’s numbing.

The way Tifa and Rude converse. The way they talk about biochemistry. The way Tifa said she talks to him about a lot of things. The way she said that they’re _pretty close_.

Cloud breathes in deep, not liking the rapid drumming of his heart, blood pounding and pounding in his ears.

Tifa’s hand finds his under the table. She laces their fingers together, holding on tight. She’s talking, and Rude’s talking, but Cloud doesn’t register it, not until he’s addressed directly.

“Right, Cloud?”

“Huh?” Cloud’s mouth hangs.

“You had Highwind last semester,” Tifa says. “He’s great, right?”

“Y—yeah,” Cloud stammers. Rude nods at him.

“I wanted to take astronomy next semester as an elective,” Rude says. “I’m gonna take Highwind.”

“He’s really cool,” Tifa says. She turns to Cloud, squeezing his hand a bit. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Cloud says. “I’m just tired.”

Tifa seems like she’d like to press further, but her voice is swallowed by the screeching of wood on wood. Rude pushes his chair back and stands up, fixing his collar as he does.

“I gotta get to my next exam,” he explains. “Thanks for the coffee, Tifa. It was nice meeting you, Cloud.”

Cloud only nods. He does not smile.

“Tifa, we’re still gonna get together to study for biochem, right?”

“Definitely.” Tifa answers. “Text me, okay?”

“Alright.”

Rude flashes one more grin before he jogs off, Tifa waving at his retreating back. She looks at Cloud.

“How was your calculus exam?”

Cloud doesn’t answer. Suddenly, his throat is tight, and he finds it hard to speak. It’s like that night, when he didn’t want to speak. To her. He didn’t want to speak to _her_.

It was petty. He knows he was being a big baby. His emotions caused him to raise his voice at her, and he still hasn’t stopped beating himself up over it. So why, _why_ does he feel like this now? Why is he jealous when he shouldn’t be? Rude is just a friend. Tifa and Rude are friends.

“Rude...seems nice.”

Nice. Really nice. Unlike Cloud.

“Yeah,” Tifa says, and she seems a bit put off by the comment. “He is. He really makes biochem with Hojo bearable.”

Maybe. Maybe it’s Rude who deserves Tifa. Not Cloud.

“Cloud, are you sure you’re alright?” Tifa leans in close, her hand coming to cup his cheek. The touch ignites him, gasoline to the fire burning in his chest.

He turns away, and her hand falls.

“I’m fine.”

Stupid. Stupid. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Okay,” she says, and she lets go of his hand.

Instantly, he misses her touch, craves it.

Why, why, why? Why is he like this? Why is he doing this? Why is he letting his jealousy control him? Why is he acting cold to her when she doesn’t fucking deserve it?

“Sorry. I’m just...worried about my calculus grade.”

“I’m sure you did great,” she answers, smiling.

The silence that follows is palpable, thick with tension. He fiddles with the button on his sleeve, his anxiety rendering him a jittery, fidgety mess.

It won’t go away, this anger, this jealousy, this sadness, and he doesn’t know what to do.

**.**

**.**

**.**

“ _Tifa_.”

It’s embarrassing, how whiny he is. Tifa has been teasing him for what seems like an eternity, and his entire body is strung up tight, a rope pulled so taut it’ll snap with the slightest movement. Cloud breathes in deep, his fingers clasped tight around Tifa’s thighs; her scent perfumes the air, wisps around his senses, renders him paralyzed. He’s under her, and she’s straddling him, clothes off, skin-to-skin.

She’s _right there_. He can feel her, the wetness, the heat, against him, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he wants more than to be buried inside her. But she has other plans, looks down at him with a vicious smile as she moves her body back and forth, rubbing herself on his cock. And he leans his head back, swallows thickly, choking around a moan of her name.

Evil. She’s evil.

“Tifa, _please_.”

“I like it when you beg,” she says, splaying her palms over his abdomen as she moves again, rocking her hips against him. He really doesn’t know how much more of this he can take, Tifa hot and wet above him but denying him what he truly wants. His fingers skate up her skin, towards the dips of her hipbones, and he molds his hands against her waist, trying (but failing) to lift her off.

At this rate, he’ll come before they actually have any sex, and then where will they be?

“I’m gonna—”

“Come only when I say so.”

 _Evil_. But he’d be lying if he said those words, throaty and husked, don’t add to the pool of fire in his core. They’re words he’ll remember fondly during his late-night excursions, Tifa controlling him, playing with him while he’s at her complete mercy. He may be a whiny brat, but he’s enjoying this.

Too much, he thinks. Too much.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispers, her hand coming under his chin. She tilts it up, makes him meet her eyes, and the very look of her, the fluttering of her lashes, the pink dusted onto her cheeks, the part of her swollen lips, everything about her has his toes curling, his stomach cartwheeling inside of his abdomen. Tifa, so beautiful it pains him, on top of him, and he’s entirely hers, his body pliant, hers to mold.

“You,” he says, grinds out the word. “You. Inside you. I—fuck, _fuck._ ”

“That’s not begging,” Tifa sings, rubbing down even harder. Fuck. Shit. _Fuck_. Goddamn it. He feels it, the familiarity of it, his orgasm creeping up on him without his permission. And he’s desperate when he pushes it away, savoring every single inch and breath and word of this moment.

After all, he can only come when she says so.

“Please, please, _please_ , ride me. I wanna be inside you. _Please_.”

Tifa seems to be satisfied with this. Thank _fucking_ god.

She reaches towards his bedside table, where the condom rests. This time, he actually made sure he had some before they started their nefarious activities. And sure, he’d liked the feeling of her without the condom on, very nearly drowned in it, but he didn’t like having to scramble to pull out of her at the right moment.

Safe sex. Safe sex is important.

Tifa rolls the condom onto him, her hands lingering for a bit too long, stroking him up and down. When she slides down onto him, he groans, in pleasure and relief both as they crash over him in thick, heavy waves. Tifa, around him, her walls tight and fluttering; it’s exactly what he wanted. She begins to move, unsheathing him only to slam right back down, and he’s entranced, his eyes glued to her and the bounce of her breasts, the way her hair sticks to her sweaty skin in silk, black threads. As a Boob Guy, he enjoys nothing more than watching her as she rides him, his hands reaching out to palm her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers.

Soon enough, it gets to be too much, the image of her, the feeling of her around his cock. He begins to tremble, words failing him as his throat closes in on itself, white stars splashing in his eyes as his body readies itself for the pleasure to consume it.

“Tifa, _Tifa_ , please, I need to—can I— _please_ —”

“You can come,” she says. “Come for me.”

He lets go, the tension unraveling inside of him. He comes with a long, long sigh, his body writhing, jerking into hers; his fingers dig into her skin as she continues to move, stretching out his high as far as it’ll go. And then, she lifts himself off him, and he gets a chance to gather himself, to catch his breath, to remember who he is, where he is.

Tifa bends to kiss him, and he relishes in the feeling of her lips, soft yet wanting against his. He reaches down between their bodies, his hand burying itself between her thighs. She’s wet and aroused and he gives her what she needs, rubbing at her clit with his fingers. She mewls on top of him, moving her hips against his hand as she desperately clutches the pillow under his head for leverage. Her moans flutter prettily against his ears, and he watches her, the contorting of her expression, the hard lines of her frown. The way her jaw goes slack, her eyes misting over, going unfocused as she gets closer and closer to her peak. She chants his name, never dropping his gaze even as she comes, long and hard on his fingers. She trembles on top of him, arches her back as he rubs her through her orgasm, feeling her arousal coat his fingers.

She wraps her fingers around his wrist, bringing his hand up and away from her. She holds it at his mouth, and at her silent command, he licks at his own fingers, tasting her on them.

God. _God_. She’s incredible. _Incredible_. An absolute goddess. He only lives to serve and please her, the Most Perfect Woman in Existence.

She tucks her head into his neck, her chest pressed against his; he can feel the wild thrum of her heart, in rhythm with his. Absently, his hands drift up her spine, coming to tangle into her hair, wrapping and curling the strands around his fingers. She hums, sending pleasant vibrations through his skin, and he smiles. Light, barely-there on his mouth, but he smiles. Here, he feels content, like nothing has ever been wrong and nothing will ever be wrong. Tifa against him, holding him close. He’s at peace. He feels like he’s at home, and as her heartbeat begins to calm, it becomes his lullaby, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Cloud.”

“Hm?”

“Take the condom off.”

Oh. Right. Okay.

She laughs a bit as he begrudgingly gets up, unwilling to leave her embrace. He disposes of the condom, cleans himself up a bit, and he very nearly runs to get back into bed with her, diving into her open arms. They lay on their sides, Tifa’s hands carding through his hair, her fingers catching onto the shell of his ear. He dips his head into the cave of her chest, feeling safe and secure against her.

“Goodnight,” she says, softly pressing a kiss to the crown of his forehead. There his light smile is again, molded into her skin.

He loves her. God, he loves her so much.

“Goodnight.”

**.**

**.**

**.**

Okay. Alright. _Okay_. It’s morning. Morning means clarity. Logic coming back to him. It had fled his mind last night, making room for the lust that inevitably needed to take its place. It didn’t quite come back after the sex either, not when he was dizzy in satisfaction and love for her, not when he was so safe and comfortable in her arms.

Now, the logic is here. And it’s here to fuck everything up.

He’d forgotten about his crises. It’d been so blissful, when they weren’t there to weigh down his soul. They’re back now, and he’s not sure what to do. He’d woken up not too long ago and found that Tifa was no longer in his arms. She’d come into the room then, bringing a plume of steam and coconuts with her as she wrung her hair dry with a towel. She stands at his mirror now, massaging god knows what skincare products into her face. And he stares at her from the bed, still unclothed, still a mess from the night before.

Communicate, Aerith had said. Dear god, he wants to. He really wants to. The words rest in his throat, like burnt ashes coating his tongue in bitterness. He wants to.

He wants to know everything about her. He wants to be open with her, like he is with Aerith.

Like she is with her friend Rude.

“Teef?”

“Hm?”

“You’re still coming with me to have Christmas dinner at my mom’s house, right?”

Tifa looks at him, her smile delicate. “Of course! I’m excited to meet her.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. You’re going to fuck everything up. _Don’t say it_.

“Do you think...I could meet your family?”

Fuck. _Fuck_. He said it. Tifa instantly goes stiff.

“I’m not sure.” She drops his gaze, instead busying herself with the bottle of one of her products. “I don’t know.”

Should he press? He’s been so afraid to all this time. But what if she becomes open with him, like the morning after they’d had sex for the first time, or like she did the morning they’d gotten together? What if she actually talks to him? But if he doesn’t ask, he’ll never know.

So, he asks. He takes the risk.

“How about Marlene? I’d love to meet her.”

“I don’t know.”

“But—”

“I _don’t_ wanna talk about my family, Cloud.”

Her voice is high. Fuck. _Fuck_. He doesn’t know what to do. An ugly feeling washes over his chest, flooding his lungs until he’s breathless. He doesn’t know what comes over him, why he gets so upset, why _this_ is what he decides should come out of his mouth.

“You’d probably talk about them with Rude, though.”

She turns to him, slow, as if unbelieving.

“Are you kidding me? You’re jealous of Rude, now?”

“I’m not jealous.” It’s a lie. He’s lying out of his fucking teeth. He’s a fucking liar.

“It’s like Rufus again.” Tifa sighs, pressing her fingers into her temple. “I _told_ you. I don’t like Rufus, and Rude is just a friend.”

“I know,” Cloud says.

“So, why are you jealous?”

“I’m not jealous!”

Liar, liar, _liar_.

“Stop raising your voice!”

Cloud is rendered immobile. He’s dumbfounded. He’s in shock. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Tifa yell, and he hates it, the shrill break of her voice. She turns her back to him, and he can see her expression in the mirror. Anger knitted into her brow, her eyes watering over, catching the spilt morning sun.

No. _No_. Why? Why did he do this? How could he do this?

“Tifa...”

He gets up, scrambles to throw on some pants. He walks to her, and she shrinks away from his outstretched hand. And it’s like he’s doused in ice water from head to toe, his heart freezing over in his chest. No, no, _no_.

“Tifa, I’m sorry.”

Stupid. Idiot. Stupid. Horrible. He’s horrible. Rude or Rufus wouldn’t treat her like this. They wouldn’t make her cry.

Stupid. Idiot. Loser. _Loser_.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s frantic. The words gush out of him in a rush because he doesn’t know what else he can do. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I just wanted to talk to you. I love you.”

She looks at him, and her wide-eyed gaze breaks him.

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice quiet, weak. It’s the first time he’s ever said it aloud. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m horrible. I’m sorry.”

Tifa goes pale. She doesn’t move or speak for a long while. She looks down at the floor, the rise and fall of her chest getting quicker and quicker. She begins to tremble, and Cloud only watches her, paralyzed in his fear.

“I have to go,” she chokes out, turning to grab her bag. She’s panting now, and Cloud doesn’t know what to do, reaches for her but gets shoved away. “Don’t—please.”

“Tifa.”

She rushes out of the room, tears down her cheeks.

“Tifa!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Zack emerges from his room, his eyes wide at the scene. “What’s goin’ on? Teef, you alright?”

Tifa does not answer, only slams the front door in her wake. The sound throbs in Cloud’s ears, lingering and lingering, and he stares at the door, as if expecting her to walk right back in through it.

She doesn’t.

“What happened?” Zack asks.

Cloud does not answer, only gives Zack a wet-eyed glare. He turns and goes back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He’s not sure if he should cry. He wants to, but maybe he doesn’t have the right to. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault.

He ruined it. He ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He was right. He doesn’t deserve her. He was never deserving of her.

“Oh no.” Cloud hears the voice through the door, muffled but still loud and prominent. “Oh _no_. _Wee woo wee woo_. Aerith, I need you!”

Zack runs off. Cloud can hear the thud of the footsteps against the wooden floor.

He doesn’t think Aerith will be able to fix this mess.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud is moping.

He’s been moping all day. He’d first been in his bed, cocooned in his blanket. Then Zack had dragged him out into the living room. And now Cloud is on the couch, still cocooned, glaring at the television, at some stupid sitcom Zack is watching. The two main characters, high school students, are dramatically declaring their love for each other and sharing an intimate hug.

Stupid. Fucking stupid. Love is horrible. Everything is horrible. Above all, Cloud is horrible. He groans in distress, falling into the couch face-first. Zack wails.

“Oh, sorry, bro! I’ll change the channel!”

It doesn’t matter. Changing the channel won’t dull the ache in his chest. It’s a visceral, gory type of pain that won’t go away, gets harsher every time he breathes. He’s sad. Unbearably so, and even though Zack is right there, being his normal, animated self, Cloud still feels so alone. Devastatingly alone.

Like when he was a child, and no one wanted to talk to him. They’d called him a loner. A weirdo. An outcast. A loser. He was a loser.

He feels like that now, a loser. Terrifyingly lonely. And it’s of his own doing. It was his fault. He’s the one who started the argument, who said stupid things out of pettiness and misplaced jealousy. And he has no right to be this upset or hurt, because he caused this. He caused Tifa to run out like that. It was his fault. It’s all his fault. Tifa, the love of his life, crying because of him.

Love, relationships, maybe none of it is for him, for a loser like him. Perhaps it’s better this way, because he never deserved Tifa in the first place.

But he hurt her. He hurt her. And maybe that fact is the most crushing of all. He hurt her, and now she’s gone, and he feels inexplicably lonely down to the marrow of his bones. Alone, like he’s always been.

“Hey, buddy,” Zack calls, his voice gentle. “Listen, you can fix this.”

Cloud isn’t really too sure about that.

“I believe in you guys,” Zack says. “You guys are too perfect for each other to break up over one fight. You can work it out.”

Cloud finds it difficult to believe Zack’s words right now. Zack pats him on the shoulder, smiling in the wide, easy way he always does, and Cloud’s grateful for that. Grateful for the way Zack is always Zack no matter what, always the consistent, driving force of happiness in his life, ever since he was a lonely kid.

“Besides, we still have a lot of double dates to go on. Kinda insensitive of you guys to break up before we could do that.”

Cloud groans, and then, he puffs out a small laugh.

Surely, he loves Zack like a brother. Zack had always been the one pushing him forward, trying to give him the confidence to confess to Tifa in the year he had liked her. The bet had come about for this reason: Cloud couldn’t work up the nerve to confess to her.

And Cloud now realizes. He’d never actually _confessed_. Not until this morning. This morning, he told her for the first time that he loved her.

And then, she had cried, panicked, and left.

And now, Aerith’s words come back to him. _You’re dating but you haven’t told her how you feel about her?_

Back then, Cloud had brushed it off, thinking it did not matter when he and Tifa already decided to be together.

He was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It did matter. It really did matter.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story's coming to an end! only 2 chapters left D:
> 
> also...shameless self plug but i recently made a discord, and i've been lurking in the cloti final heaven server as @hoegeta, so if anyone wants to talk 👀 i just really wanna make friends hngnsfksjdlsk
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	9. ix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna miss this story when it's over ffkdkjsljd
> 
> you guys. are so sweet. im so grateful for all your comments and kind words. i don't deserve it. thank u so much. i will gladly continue to feed you all cloti content. (im also working on something new 👀 so look out for that soon 👀)

“Alright, I’m here! I’m here!”

The Damage Control is here, bumbling through the door in a thick, winter parka. Aerith shrugs out of the parka, hangs it on the hook screwed into the door, kicks off her boots, and sits next to Cloud’s cocooned body on the couch. Zack shuts off the television and turns his attention to his girlfriend.

“Okay, what happened?” Aerith begins. “Tell me from your point-of-view.”

There isn’t much for him to say, he thinks. He fucked up. That’s all there is to it.

“I’m a doofus.”

“You’re not a doofus,” Aerith says, Zack nodding behind her.

“No friend of mine is a doofus!”

“You tried asking her about meeting her family, right?” Aerith asks. Cloud sighs.

“Yeah. Then she said she didn’t wanna talk about it, and I got upset.”

“Why did you get upset?”

Cloud really, _really_ doesn’t want to admit this aloud. How is he supposed to tell Aerith that he’s unfairly jealous of Rude, Tifa’s friend? Of Rufus Shinra who, despite being a fucking asshole, is richer and smarter and more handsome than Cloud? How is he supposed to tell Aerith that Cloud hates himself and doesn’t think he’s worthy of Tifa?

Tears sting at his eyes. He’s crying? But why?

“Listen,” Aerith says, and her voice is gentle, soothing. She places a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re both in the wrong here. You shouldn’t have brought up Rude, and Tifa should have communicated to you about why she doesn’t want to talk about her family.”

Aerith the therapist. Cloud frowns.

“Tifa looked really panicked when she left here,” Zack mentions. Aerith nods.

“She had a panic attack,” Aerith says. Cloud’s heart falls like a boulder in his chest. It was because of him. It was his fault. He did that to her. He’s stupid, stupid, stupid. Horrible and stupid. “Cloud, I know what you’re thinking, and I need you to stop.”

“It isn’t easy to just stop,” Cloud mutters.

“I know that.” Aerith’s hand strokes down his arm. “It’s clear that you both are dealing with some internal issues. And I know it’s easier to ignore them, but you can’t do that. They’ll only get worse, and they’ll only cause more problems.”

Zack nods. “Yeah, what she said.”

“You got jealous of Rude,” Aerith says. “Why? It isn’t because you don’t trust Tifa. It’s because you’re insecure in yourself, and you think she deserves better.”

 _Wow_. Why doesn’t she kick him in the fucking balls while she’s at it? Aerith always hits everything on the nose, and it unnerves him. She _is_ a psychology major, after all.

“Tifa has problems with her family, obviously,” Aerith says. “But she also has problems with love and opening up, too. I’d rather she tell you herself, just what those problems are. The bottom line is: relationships take work.”

Zack nods. “Yup, yup. Tell ‘em, babe.”

“They take a lot of work. And effort.” Aerith gives Cloud a small smile. “You’re giving your all to another person, after all. If you’re harboring insecurities and traumas, they’re only going to show up and cause problems, no matter what you do. And that’s okay, because you’re human.

“You aren’t a horrible doofus for making a mistake. You aren’t undeserving of good things just because your evil brain makes you think you are. You’re a good person, Cloud. And you’re just going to have to work this out with Tifa. You both are going to have to put effort into making this relationship work. Because it’s not just about love or the initial infatuation. It’s about commitment. You have to commit to making it work.”

Honestly, Cloud is speechless.

Zack begins to clap. “Hell yeah, honey! Look at you and all your psych major expertise!”

Aerith gives a triumphant smile. “I hope I could make you feel a little better.”

Cloud realizes that he does feel better. His soul feels just a tad bit lighter. The storm whirling in his chest dies down, passes finally. He takes in a deep, deep breath, and maybe, maybe things can be better. Maybe he can work this out with Tifa. Maybe he can try to work through his insecurities. Maybe he can actually become better.

“It won’t be easy,” he says.

“I never said it will be,” Aerith says. “It’s going to be hard. Really hard. But I promise you, it’ll all be worth it.”

It’ll be difficult. It will be. He’s flooded in crippling anxiety just thinking about. Opening up to Tifa. Laying bear insecurities and a sadness he’s been carrying around with him for so, so long. It’ll be really hard.

But he’ll trust Aerith’s words. It’ll be worth it. It’ll all be worth it.

“So,” Zack begins, looking at Aerith. “Where should we go on our first double date?”

Aerith hums. “I’m thinking bowling? What do you think, Cloud?”

Cloud chuckles, just a tiny bit. They may be really fucking annoying at times, but he really does love his best friends.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Thanks, you guys.”

Zack and Aerith’s smiles mirror each other’s, wide and bright and toothy.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Aerith says, and Zack nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, what she said.”

Cloud turns away, smiling shyly. He knows that. He isn’t alone, because he has them.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The fall semester is at an end. Cloud trudges out of the lecture hall, finally finished with his exams. The last one had been for sociology; thankfully, it wasn’t difficult, and it didn’t make him want to cry like calculus did. He shudders just thinking about it. Sociology was taught by a detective who actually knew what she was talking about, and she’d enhance her lessons with vivid tales about her undercover detective work, and for some reason, that made the information nest deeply into Cloud’s brain. He’s sure he passed with flying colors.

He’s grateful for that, since he was hardly able to concentrate on his studying. His mind’s been focused on one thing and one thing only: Tifa. Tifa, Tifa, _Tifa_. His brain is always occupied by her and her lovely, sunlit smile, the sweetness that coated his tongue whenever he looked at it, the peace and safety that settled in his chest whenever he was in her presence. He especially misses her eyes, the carmine brown of them, the way they glittered in captured stars, a sea of sparkling red. Cloud misses her terribly, feels every cell in his being ache for her.

He’s only in his twenties. He’s only a college student. He’s young, and he has the rest of his life left to live. This is his first real, true relationship. And yet, he feels absolutely crazy for her, like there’s no one else on the planet he could love as much as he loves her. And it’s odd. It’s a very odd feeling. Being without her is sobering, lonesome. She occupies his mind every waking moment of the day, and he wants nothing more than to just…be with her. Go back to her.

But, against himself and everything he feels, he decided to give her some space. They both need it, maybe. Like Aerith had said, they both have internal issues that they need to work out. If they don’t, their arguments will only get worse. Cloud knows this, and yet, he’s still deathly afraid.

Communicating. Opening up. Working on himself. Getting better. It seems impossible when all he’s been doing his entire life is ignoring, ignoring, ignoring.

But he has to try, he thinks. He promised Zack and Aerith that he’d make this work. He promised that he would try, because relationships take a lot of hard work and commitment. The foolish, childlike infatuation he has held for Tifa for over a year can only bring their relationship so far. They have to actively commit, not rely on something as fickle as feelings.

So, Cloud takes a deep, deep breath, soaking his lungs in icy, winter frost, and he walks into the building. The campus’ counseling center.

A long time ago, Aerith had told him to get a therapist. So, that’s what he’s doing. He’s getting a therapist.

The waiting room is painted in bright, rainbow colors, artwork hanging in all corners, vases of flowers adorning every table. Out from the speakers of a radio come soft, peaceful tunes that flutter gently through his senses. And the scents of green tea and vanilla hit his nose, wisps of candlelight crawling up the walls. He isn’t sure if the physicality of the room is making his anxiety any better, but perhaps it’s a nice attempt at soothing frazzled students who enter here.

Like him. He’s very frazzled. His nerves are firing off wildly in his body, his stomach whirling and whirling in his abdomen. There’s no one else here, and perhaps he’s glad for that.

He walks towards a door. Behind it is the receptionist’s office. And to his utter shock, there isn’t a receptionist behind the desk, but a student. A student he recognizes all too well.

Rude. Bald Man Rude, Tifa’s friend.

“Hey!” Rude greets, and he gives Cloud a smile. Cloud, instantly, feels so uncomfortable, his skin crawling as if he doesn’t belong in it. Of all the fucking people, why Rude? “Cloud, what’s up?”

“You…work here?” Cloud stammers.

“Sometimes,” Rude answers. “Need the extra money, you know?”

Cloud nods. He does know.

“Who’re you here to see?” Rude asks, flipping through some kind of appointment book, it looks like. Cloud thinks back to the phone call he’d had with the receptionist, trying to remember what name he’d been given.

“Uh, Wallace?” he says. “Barret Wallace, I think.”

Rude nods. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Cloud doesn’t respond, only nods, feels his palms getting clammy. There isn’t anything wrong with seeking therapy, of course, no matter what societal stigma says about it. But he’s a little wary, and perhaps he’s too concerned with what people think about him and how they view him. Rude is good friends with Tifa. And Cloud is (or was, hopefully still is) Tifa’s boyfriend. And Cloud doesn’t want Rude to think poorly of Tifa’s boyfriend.

Cloud already thinks very poorly of himself. If Rude said anything, Cloud would probably shrivel into a hole in the ground and die.

“How’s Tifa?” Rude asks. “I haven’t talked to her since we got coffee that day.”

Somehow, Cloud thinks it’s his fault.

“She’s…okay.”

In theory. Tifa’s okay in _theory_.

“You know, I’m a little jealous of you.”

Cloud’s eyes go wide, and his jaw goes slack. Huh? What? Rude, jealous of Cloud? Idiotic, messy, loser _Cloud_?

“Tifa used to talk about you all the time during lab,” Rude says, his words framed in a friendly smile. “I wish I had someone who loved me as much as Tifa loves you.”

Rude gets up, some manila folders in hand. He walks towards the door, not without patting Cloud a couple of times on the shoulder as he passes by.

“You guys are cute. Perfect for each other, I think. Be good to her, alright?”

Cloud is absolutely speechless. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that. He can’t form words, not when his heart is pounding in his chest, so much so it may leap right out. He doesn’t know what this feeling is. Relief? Happiness? Regret for being such a fucking doofus and acting jealous for no reason other than his own insecurities? He’s not sure.

Although they’d never told each other, they loved each other. Maybe they still do. Maybe they’d just been too afraid to say it.

 _Perfect for each other_. Really? Are they really? Cloud has never thought that he deserved her.

Maybe. Maybe Aerith is right. Maybe he actually _is_ deserving of good things.

But it’s going to take a long, long time for him to actually believe that completely.

The sound of footsteps echoing on wood brings Cloud out of his thoughts. In comes a burly, intimidating tower of a man, dressed in slacks and a button down that may break open from his bulging muscles. He comes in with a loud, hearty laugh, his eyes drenched in candlelight and warmth.

“Hey, are you Cloud Strife?!”

Cloud stares blankly. He then realizes that yes, he _is_ Cloud Strife.

“Y—yeah.”

“I’m Barret, your therapist!”

Barret pats Cloud on the shoulder, so hard that maybe Cloud has dislocated a bone.

“I’m gonna whip you into shape, son! Don’t worry! I’m here for you!”

Barret gives a booming laugh. And Cloud finds himself smiling as well.

Yeah, maybe he needs to be whipped into shape. He needs this, he thinks. He needs to get better. He needs to work hard to improve himself and then all of his relationships. It’s going to be difficult. He knows it will.

But he has his friends. And he has Tifa. And he has Barret now, too.

Cloud thinks he’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Cloud had instantly felt at ease when he’d walked into his childhood home. His mother had gathered him into a hug so hard he could no longer breathe. And then, she’d scolded him for not calling or visiting often enough. He’d apologized, blaming that on the harshness of the past semester. She’d smiled, and she took his bag, telling him that he’s gotten far too thin, coddling him like she does best.

And Cloud realized that he’d felt happy. He’s happy. He’s okay. His soul doesn’t feel heavy. He’s at home, and he’s excited to spend Christmas with his mom. Even though Tifa isn’t here.

Tifa. _Tifa_.

God, he still fucking misses her.

“Where’s Tifa?!” Claudia had yelled, and Cloud instantly went red, felt the hot fingers of an embarrassed flush touch at his cheeks. “I was so excited to meet her! I even knitted her a scarf!”

Cloud had, somehow, evaded the question, instead asking about the delicious smell that adorned the house. Claudia had dropped the topic.

And now, as he’s standing next to her, chopping tomatoes for the side salad he’s making at her behest, he realizes he can’t evade the question forever.

“You never told me why Tifa didn’t come,” Claudia says, her gaze pointed. “I have to give her the scarf I made for her!”

Cloud looks at the living room table, where the completed scarf is sitting, neatly folded into a square. It’s warm wool with pink and red stripes, and Cloud knows that Tifa would look absolutely adorable in that. Something in his chest twinges, a quick but sharp pang of pain that he struggles to swallow down. Tifa was supposed to be here, to enjoy Christmas dinner with him and his mom. She’d been so excited when he’d asked her to join him.

Is she spending Christmas by herself? Is she alone? She has problems with her family, after all.

The fact that he doesn’t know devastates him.

“Tifa and I…”

“Did you two break up?” Claudia gasps, dropping the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the stew. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry!”

She engulfs him into a very tight, mom hug, and Cloud groans.

“We didn’t _necessarily_ break up.”

“So, you had a fight?”

Cloud frowns. “Y—yeah…”

She pulls back, her hands pinching his cheeks lightly. “I’m sure it’s nothing you two can’t work out!”

She’s right. Cloud knows she is. Only he still has the working out part left to do. He hasn’t spoken to her since they had that fight. His curiosity eats at him, wondering what she’s doing, how she’s doing, if she misses him just as much as he misses her.

He sighs. Maybe next Christmas, he thinks.

The doorbell rings, stark and unexpected against Cloud’s senses. Who could it be? Claudia didn’t tell him that she invited anyone else to dinner tonight. He drops his knife, wipes his palms on the apron Claudia forced him to put on, and he jogs towards the living room. He unlocks the front door, throws it open, and gawks.

Vincent. And _Tifa_.

Tifa Tifa Tifa Tifa _Tifa_. Tifaaaa. _Tifa’s here_.

TIFA.

“Hey,” Vincent greets.

Tifa gives Cloud a small smile. “Hi.”

 _Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god_.

“Vincent!” Claudia yells. And then, she gasps. “Tifa?! Is that you?!”

Tifa’s smile grows wider, so wide it lights up her eyes. She steps into the house, kicking off her snowy boots. Before she’s even able to rid herself of her overcoat, Claudia is in front of her, gathering her into a hug. Tifa reciprocates, grinning at Cloud over his mom’s shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as Claudia pulls back. “I got this for you.”

She hands over the box she’s been holding, wrapped up in shiny, floral paper that matches her eyes.

“Oh sweetie, you shouldn’t have!” Claudia gushes. She places the box onto the coffee table, and she picks up the knitted scarf. “I made this for you! I’m sorry I didn’t wrap it!”

“It’s okay!” Tifa’s cheeks pink over, even deeper than they had been from the bite of winter outside. “I love it! Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome!” Claudia looks at Vincent. “Vincent, yours is upstairs! I’ll go get it right now!”

She’s gone and running up the stairs before Cloud gets a chance to stop her. He looks at Vincent, and he looks at Tifa, and he’s so confused. Vincent had told Cloud that he had other plans for Christmas Eve. And Tifa…

He never expected Tifa to come, not with everything that happened between them. They haven’t even spoken in a couple of weeks.

“The plans I had fell through,” Vincent explains, crossing his arms. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Cloud shakes his head. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

He looks at Tifa. And she gives him her normal smile, the one he’d missed so, so much. The one that reminds him of rising suns, of golden warmth after a never-ending storm. Her eyes, ruby pools glittered in stars. The flush in her cheeks, the way her winter coat swallows her small form. The swipe of her fringe against her lashes, the gloss painted on her lips. God, he missed her _so much_ , and he feels at ease, soaking up the view of her in front of him.

“I promised,” she says. “I couldn’t miss Christmas dinner with your mom, could I?”

And Cloud feels just like he did when he first met her. Aerith’s very pretty friend who threw his world upside down. It should have only been about grades and schoolwork for him. But he fell for Tifa’s smile, her heart, the way she always included him, always was kind to him. He’d become smitten like a lovesick teenager.

And then, she became his, and he became hers. And it’s stupid. It’d be really fucking stupid if he lost her because of one argument. One argument they can surely fix.

He’s so, so glad she’s here. (Vincent too, of course, but Tifa’s a little more important right now.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tifa had tried her hardest to sneak her way into the kitchen, to help Cloud with the salad or the bread rolls, to help his mom with the stew or the chicken. But Claudia had relentlessly shooed Tifa away, saying that guests should only sit and enjoy the food, not help make it. And Tifa had laughed breathlessly, finding it hard to argue.

Now, she lingers behind Cloud, swathed in Claudia’s hand-knitted scarf, surveying him as he throws together a salad dressing. He can’t help but be hyper aware of her, of her every little movement and breath. She smells like her usual vanilla perfume, and she watches him over his shoulder, her chest just barely brushing his back.

“I thought you were hopeless in the kitchen.”

“I can manage a salad,” he answers quietly, his voice swallowed a bit by Claudia’s excited chatter with Vincent. “Not really anything else, though.”

“That’s why Aerith always kicks you out of your own kitchen,” Tifa teases.

Chef Aerith is a force of nature, he thinks. He shudders just thinking about her.

“I like your apron,” Tifa says. Cloud splutters a bit, finding it difficult to form coherent words. Tifa… _complimented_ _him_. She likes his apron. It’s pink and frilly and horribly uncool, but if Tifa likes it, then nothing else matters.

“Th—thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Tifa turns to Claudia. “Misses Strife, I can—”

“Tifa, darling, you’re too sweet!” Claudia yells. She places her hands on Tifa’s shoulders, slowly turning the girl around and gently pushing her towards the dining table, where Vincent is seated comfortably. “Don’t worry about anything here! Just sit down and relax!”

Tifa obliges, laughing a bit as she settles down next to Vincent. Cloud’s mom kind of reminds him of Chef Aerith. Only less crude. And less mean.

Dinner is complete in no time. Cloud and Claudia set the table, the main centerpiece being the whole chicken Claudia had spent all day roasting. The rest of the side dishes, save the salad and the stew, had been completed yesterday, macaroni and vegetables and buttered bread rolls. Cloud’s excited, has missed his mom’s cooking desperately, since he and Zack are pretty much useless in the kitchen. People can’t live on junk food and takeout forever, after all.

As soon as she takes the first bite, Tifa begins complimenting the food, telling Claudia that she admires the use of spices and a whole bunch of other cooking terms Cloud doesn’t really understand. Vincent, not a man of many words, also throws in compliments here and there, but mainly, he focuses on stuffing his face.

“I’m so happy you guys are here!” Claudia yells, clasping her hands together. “Tifa, it was such a joy to meet you!”

Tifa smiles, setting down her fork. “You too. You make me feel like I’m at home.”

Tifa’s smile grows pale. Empty. Sad, like it’d been the time she came to him at four in the morning. Like it’d been all the times she talked about her family.

“Thank you. Really.”

The quiet, brokenness of her voice hurts him, stabs at his chest, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s happy that she’s here. He’s glad that he got to spend Christmas dinner with her (and Vincent) like he’d wanted.

But a dinner can only do so much. They have much, much to talk about. They have things they need to sort through. Or else they’ll never get better. It’s like a wound, and the longer he leaves it to fester, the harder it’ll be for it to heal.

Relationships take work, Aerith had said. They take commitment.

Under the table, Tifa’s fingers flirt towards his, threading them together. Her hand is soft. Warm, like it always is, her fingers small and stubby against his. He’d missed holding her hand. He’d missed everything, everything about her.

He’ll make it work, he thinks. He’s going to try.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter to go! thanks for reading <3


	10. x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnngng ggh FINAL CHAPTER

The weather had told them there would be a snowstorm on the night of Christmas Eve. But after dessert, it was coming down in sheets, the world blanketed over in white. The sky is dyed purple, the stars hidden, and Cloud watches the flakes come down, his breath coating the iced window in beads of condensation. Claudia, after (unwillingly and begrudgingly) letting Tifa do the dishes, told Vincent that it really wouldn’t be safe for him to drive home in this weather.

So, now, Vincent and Tifa are staying over for the night. Claudia has already gone to sleep. Cloud and Vincent take Cloud’s childhood bedroom, while Tifa uses the guest bedroom.

Vincent pats down the pillow, snuggling under the covers. Cloud let him have the bed because he’s such a nice guy. And he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor, really.

“So…” Vincent begins, staring up at the ceiling. “You gonna talk to Tifa?”

Cloud sits on the floor, on the makeshift bed he’s created with one of his mom’s extra comforters. He scratches at his head, mussing up his hair more than it already is.

“Maybe.”

“Communicate,” Vincent says. “Like an adult, Strife.”

Cloud’s having a very odd sense of déjà vu. He’s sure Vincent has said these very words to him before.

“I will,” Cloud mutters. “Just…”

“Do it now,” Vincent orders. “Before she goes to sleep. Hurry. Go.”

“Why the fuck are you so pushy?”

“Aerith told me to be.”

Of course. Fucking Aerith.

Is he ready? Is he ready to have this conversation with Tifa? He’s not sure. He’s overwhelmed in anxiety at the thought, his chest caving in on itself. But if he doesn’t do it now, then when? Is he just going to let the wound continue to fester? Will he ever be able to work up the nerve.

No, probably not. If he doesn’t do this now, then he’ll disappoint Aerith, Zack, and Barret. And he and Tifa will never be able to get better.

So, he gets up. He very nearly runs out of the room, stomps down the hallway and towards the guest bedroom. He falters a bit before the door, raising his fist to knock before letting it fall back down. The fear is curdling in his blood, rendering him paralyzed. What if he makes things worse? What if he and Tifa will never be able to work through their internal issues? What if Zack and Rude were wrong, and Cloud and Tifa aren’t perfect for each other?

What if his evil brain is right, and he isn’t deserving of her?

The door in front of him swings open on its own. Tifa looks at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Oh, Cloud.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s going to happen. He has to do it. He has to do it _now_.

Now, now, _now_ , do it, _do it_ you stupid fuck.

“H—hey,” he stammers. “I, uh…wanted to talk to you.”

Tifa nods. “I did, too.”

She steps aside, and she lets him into the room. He’s trembling a bit, nervousness crawling down his spine in waves. Communicate, communicate, communicate.

“I’m…really glad you came tonight.”

Tifa smiles. She settles on the bed, and she pats the seat next to her. He sits down, twiddling with his thumbs in his lap.

“I’m glad I did, too. Your mom’s incredible.”

“She really likes you, you know,” Cloud says. “She was dying to meet you.”

Tifa looks down, her fingers chipping at the polish on her nail. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks.

“Marlene…wants to meet you, too.”

Cloud’s jaw goes slack, shock leaving him speechless. He…Marlene? Her little sister Marlene wants to meet _him_? Tifa brought up a family member on her own?

“I’m sorry,” Tifa says. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Cloud says.

She takes a deep, deep breath, her shoulders falling limp.

“I just—the other day, when I ran off…”

She bites her lip, and he knows she’s finding it difficult to speak. He reaches forward, covering her knuckles with his hand. She weaves her fingers with his, holding his hand close to her.

“You…told me the same things my dad would always tell my mom after they fought,” she explains, swallowing heavily. “I had to grow up hearing that, and then, hearing you say it…I panicked.”

He’d said that he loved her, and that he was horrible, and that he messed up.

Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid, _idiot_ —

No. Wait. No. Barret told him not to listen to those bad thoughts, to challenge them whenever he has them. Aerith was right: he has a mean brain. And he’s a good person who deserves good things despite what his brain tells him. He made a mistake. And he has to accept that. He has to learn from this, to remember not to repeat the same behavior. Beating himself up will not make anything better.

But he wants to. Beating himself up has always been so easy. How will he unlearn something he’s been doing all his life? Outcast. Loner. Weirdo. Loser, loser, _loser_.

Cloud takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll remember that. I’ll be mindful.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tifa sighs. “I should have just been transparent from the start. I’m sorry.”

“But it’s not easy,” Cloud says. “It’s not easy being open.”

It’s never easy, opening up. And maybe it’s even harder for them because they were friends, but not too close. Not as close as Aerith is to Tifa or as Zack is to Cloud. They’d liked each other, so they became a couple. But that isn’t all there is to it. Opening up, communication, commitment, that matters. It all matters.

“But I wanna try,” Tifa says. “I have to. If we aren’t open with each other…”

“It’ll only get worse, and there will be more problems.”

She gives a tiny little laugh. “Aerith gave you the lecture too, right?”

Cloud nods. “Yup.”

“She was right,” Tifa says. “Everything she said was right.”

“She was,” Cloud says. He plays with Tifa’s fingers, running his thumb over her knuckles. His throat closes on him, swallows up his words, but he spits them out anyway, fighting all his nerves. “I…I started therapy.”

Tifa’s face breaks into a wide, wide smile, and instantly, he feels warm, like the winter outside is chased away.

“How is it going?”

“It’s…okay,” Cloud says. Barret is…eccentric, to say the least. Cloud has an hour-long session every week, and he’s only had two sessions, and there obviously isn’t a significant difference. But he’s trying, he guesses. He’s trying. “My therapist is a little weird, but he’s great. We’re working on…my insecurities.”

“Good,” Tifa says. “I’m glad.”

“I’m insecure,” Cloud says, his toes curling against the carpet. God, he’s uncomfortable. He feels like hiding away under his blankets and never coming out. Why is he doing this again? Fuck, this is hard. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I…feel bad about myself. I feel like you deserve better.”

She lets him speak, her hand soothing as it slides up and down his arm.

“So, I got jealous. Of Rufus and Rude. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay,” Tifa says. “The important thing is you’re working on it.”

Cloud nods.

“I thought I was the one who didn’t deserve you.” Tifa’s chuckle is humorless. “I kind of don’t have a grasp on what love really is, not when all I’ve seen all my life are my parents fighting. They fight all the time. Once, my mom left us for a week. Went to stay at a friend’s house, I think. Marlene thought she’d never come back.”

Tifa begins to cry, wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. Cloud reaches forward, cupping her cheek.

“Sorry, I—damn, why am I crying?”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” he says. He scoots a bit closer to her, wraps his arms around her so she’s leaning into his chest. She splays her hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly.

“Aerith came over, stayed with us that entire week,” Tifa says. “She made that pasta, the one we made for you guys the other day. And then, my mom came back, like nothing ever happened.”

She lets out a staggered breath. He strokes her hair, runs his fingers through the silk strands.

“Aerith was there for me, and…and I know you’ll do the same.”

She raises her head, looks at him, her eyes watery, dark orange light bled into the irises.

“I’m not really sure what love is, but I think it’s whatever I feel for you.”

Cloud’s heart stops in his chest, his fingertips going numb. He doesn’t know what to say, his brain malfunctioning. All he can do is stare, drink in Tifa’s features, the slight smile woven into her lips, the way she wipes away her tears.

“And I’m going to try really, really hard to be more open with you. I may try therapy, too. You’ve inspired me.”

“That’s…” Cloud breathes in, trying to calm himself down. “That’s really good to hear.”

“Like Aerith said…” Tifa says. “Relationships take a lot of work.”

“And effort,” Cloud chimes in.

“Right. So, we’ll put in that work. And we’re going to try really hard.”

“Y—yeah…”

Tifa dips her head into his shoulder, her nose tucked against his neck.

“I love you,” she says, the words tattooed into his skin. “I love you, and I really wanna make this work.”

She loves him. She loves him. _She loves him_.

“M—me too,” he says, stumbling over his words. Damn, does he always have to stutter? “I love you, too.”

“So, we’re…okay?”

It won’t be easy. He knows it won’t. There won’t be an overnight change. But they’re both going to try. They’re going to be more open with each other. They’re going to change their ways, to communicate more often. They’re going to try to make it work.

And that’s what matters. A commitment to making it work.

“We’re okay,” he says, because they are. They’re okay. They’ll be fine. He’s not over his insecurities, and she’s not over her fears about love and family, but they can be. They can be, one day.

They’ll be okay. He’s sure of that.

Tifa leans forward, pressing her lips against his, and he’s instantly flooded in relief. In peace. In safety. He feels like his soul’s at home, in Tifa’s arms, holding her against him. She tastes like toothpaste, and she tastes like happiness and warmth and the sun and love and kindness and everything that she means to him. He goes in deeper, kissing her like he’s starved. Maybe he is. Two weeks without her left him starved.

She pulls back, holding his face in her hands, smoothing her thumbs over the highs of his cheeks.

“Do you think…you could stay here tonight?”

Yes. Absolutely. Of course. Because, after all, he only lives to please her.

“Yeah. I just have to be back in my room before my mom wakes up.”

Tifa grins, and she’s giddy as she wraps herself in the blanket. Cloud clicks off the lamp, and he settles in next to her, and immediately, she gathers him into her arms. He tucks his head against her chest, liking the way her nails scrape against his scalp as she cards her fingers through his hair.

She kisses him softly on the crown of his forehead.

“Goodnight.”

His eyes fall closed, and he smiles.

“Goodnight.”

**.**

**.**

**.**

The two of them didn’t actually fall asleep. He’d wanted to, felt comfortable in her arms, but she’d called out to him, asking him if he was awake. And then, they talked. They talked for hours. About everything and nothing. Tifa about her upbringing, and thankfully, she didn’t shed any more tears. She’d talked about Marlene, how she likes to draw. She’d talked about when she met Aerith in high school, and the two became best friends quickly. Cloud talked, too. Told her about the nonsense he and Zack were up to in high school. Told her about how much Claudia had cried when Cloud had moved out for college.

All the while, Cloud held her against his chest, looking up at the ceiling as his fingertips drew absent patterns on her shoulder. He’d listened to her intently, hung onto every single word she said. And he’d realized that they can be open with each other. They’re trying. They’re doing better.

He can be as open with her as he is with Aerith and Zack. And that fact pleases him greatly.

Somewhere along the way, when they’d begun talking about the storm outside, the snow that won’t stop falling, their words began to die away, their touches getting less and less innocent. Tifa ran her hands up his torso, skated the tips of her fingers around his nape. She’d kissed him on the collarbone, and he lost it, right then and there.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed _this_ as well. Touching her. Kissing her. Doing nefarious things with her. He missed it a lot.

And now, she’s under him, her lips swollen from his kisses. He goes down, peppering them over her jawline, down the stretched slope of her neck. Her skin is warm, flushed and covered thinly in a sheen of sweat. His hands sneak under her shirt, mapping the skin, going up until they reach her bra. He’s impatient, shoves the cups out of the way and palms her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers. She hums in satisfaction under him, rubbing her thighs together.

God. _God_. He missed this. Tifa’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And the fact that he gets to touch her like this, that he’s the only one who can please her, who can work her body the way she likes, drives him mad.

“Cloud,” she mewls, her fingers hooking onto his elbows. “Are we really going to do inappropriate things in your mom’s house?”

“Why not?” he asks, and maybe his horniness is getting in the way of his better judgment. Tifa’s effect on him is drastic. And besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.

His ex, Jessie, was kind of wild.

“Vincent’s next door,” Tifa says, gasps a little as he sinks his teeth into her shoulder, then suckles away the pain. She’d liked that the last time they were together, and he tucked that information away to use for future moments like this.

He looks at her. “We did it when Zack and Aerith were in the living room.”

“You know what, fair enough.”

Tifa grabs him, pulls him towards her and kisses him roughly. He moans into her mouth, likes the way her tongue curls against his, likes the way her teeth nibble into his bottom lip. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s missed her so deeply for two weeks, or maybe it’s the pent-up emotions he’s been dealing with; whatever the case, he’s impatient. Terribly so. And he wants her. Now.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it away. Her shirt is next, and he struggles a bit to unhook her bra. She laughs at him, reaches behind to unhook it herself, and he’s quick to shower her chest in kisses, takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks with a near urgency. He watches her bite at her lip, watches the frown mar itself into her brow, the sweat that gathers on her forehead. Her hands are in his hair, pulling at the strands.

“Cloud,” she says. “I want it.”

Fuck. Shit. _God_. He may come right here and now.

The tent in his pants is tight, uncomfortably so, and he struggles to get them off, groaning when they bunch around his ankles. He finally gets them off, but he somehow falls over when he throws them away, and Tifa helps him up, giggling teasingly at his plight. Fuck. Shit. He’s a moron. A clumsy moron. He’s supposed to be smooth and sexy, goddamn it.

“You’re cute,” she tells him, tapping a little kiss onto his nose. “Now fuck me.”

 _With fucking pleasure_.

Tifa gets her own pants off, her panties with them, and she tosses them away. She pulls him into her, chest against chest, kissing him and stealing all of his breath. Cloud grunts into her mouth when her hand comes around his cock, her grip slack but still igniting him. A fire pools low in his belly, lapping all down his veins until his skin is singed in it. Tifa’s kisses and touches are the fuel, and he really can’t handle it, the way she pumps him up and down, the way her tongue explores his mouth.

“Tifa,” he gasps. He moves back, his hand dipping between her thighs. She’s wet. Incredibly so, especially since all they’ve been doing is kissing and petting. She looks a little bashful, avoiding his gaze and whimpering as his fingers prod at her lips, slick from her arousal. Her thighs come further apart, needy for his touch.

Then, she lays back, comfortable with her head in the pillow. And she spreads her legs wide, her lips sucking at the tip of her finger.

“Fuck me,” she says, pants the words. “Please.”

Again, he has to ask: how the fuck did he get so lucky? Tifa, the Most Perfect Angel in Existence, splayed out, wet and pliant and ready for him, ordering him to fuck her? Last year, this would’ve been an image he could only see in his mind as his own hand worked between his legs.

Now, it’s reality. Fuck. Shit. God. _God_. Tifa, Tifa, _Tifa_.

He really can’t believe he’s the person who gets to fuck her. _Him_.

He gets closer to her, one hand wrapped around her ankle, holding it near his shoulder. He stays upright as he enters her in one quick, fluid motion, her slickness welcoming him openly. All the breath is drained from his lungs as she clenches around him, her walls fluttering as she moans his name, her hands curling into the bed sheet under her. She’s hot and tight and wet around him, so wet, and he wonders how much of this he’ll actually be able to take. It’s only been two weeks, but it feels like it’s been two centuries.

“Cloud,” she whines. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, pulls all the way back out just to slam into her again. And what else also slams into something?

The headboard. Against the wall.

Fuck. _Fuck_. _Oh my god_. It’s not Zack and Aerith, not this time. Cloud doesn’t give a single shit about Vincent’s opinion.

But… _his mom_. Oh no. Oh _god_. If Claudia hears…

Tifa looks at him in worry.

“What do we do?”

Something tells him the stuffing the pillow in between the wall and headboard technique won’t necessarily work. They’d found it on the floor when they’d finished last time, and Cloud can’t afford to risk that.

But. Also. He doesn’t want to stop. They can do quieter things, but he’d really, _really_ like to fuck her right now.

“Let’s go on the floor,” Tifa says, getting up. He slips out of her, instantly missing her warmth.

“Won’t the carpet be rough on you?” Cloud asks, frowning.

Tifa throws him a lilting, teasing smirk over her shoulder.

“It’s fine. I want you to be rough with me, too.”

_Oh my god oh my god oh my GOD._

Cloud very nearly scrambles to the floor, following Tifa. He brings along with him the blanket, messily spreading it over the floor so Tifa’s skin isn’t too irritated by the carpet. She holds his face, bringing him in for a kiss.

“You’re sweet,” she tells him.

It occurs to him now that he doesn’t have any condoms. Why would he? He’s at his mom’s house, and he sure as fuck didn’t expect to have sex with Tifa tonight. But that doesn’t really matter; he’s crazy for her and her skin, desperate for the feeling of her body around his. He hovers over her, sinking himself deep into her, sighing in relief and pleasure and happiness and everything in between.

Tifa wraps her legs around his waist, her fingers curling into his biceps. She looks at him, her hair a black pool of silk spilt all around her on the carpet. Like this, she looks painfully beautiful, framed in purple light from the sky outside, her eyes holding hostage the stars and the moon. He raises his hand, his fingertips giving her cheek the slightest of grazes. There’d been tears here just hours before, when she laid bare her soul to him, told him about her family. And he’d told her things, and they’d opened themselves up to each other.

He feels closer to her now than he ever did before. He loves her. God, he loves her so much.

“I love you,” she tells him, as if reading his mind. He smiles, light and ghostly on his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

The heady mindlessness of lust escapes him now, and he’s now drunk in the feeling of her, her warmth, her skin sticking to his. Every thrust into and out of her is slow, as if he’s savoring every inch. He slides all the way back out just to slam right back in, reaching the furthest depths of her. It’s less about his release and more about her, the way she writhes under him, the way her eyes go unfocused, lost in her own bliss. He reaches down between their bodies, his fingers slick in her arousal as he touches at her clit, the nub hard and wanting.

She fidgets under him, her toes curling against his lower back. Her breathing quickens, the pace of her heartbeat manic against his. Cloud’s thrusts lose their rhythm, and he grows a bit desperate, losing himself to the fluttering of her walls, the wetness around him. He keeps touching her, his fingers rubbing her clit hard and fast.

“Cloud,” she chants, her fingers clawing into his back, and he relishes in the pain. “Cloud, Cloud, I’m gonna—fuck, _please_ —”

Tifa comes around him, her lips caught on a light scream of his name. He hurriedly presses his hand against her mouth, muffling her noises. The tightness of her walls around him, the trembling of her thighs, the way his name, drenched in her husked voice, caresses his ears; he climbs up and up until he’s crashing back down. He comes with a shudder, pulling out of her at the last moment and spilling all over her thighs and the blanket. The pleasure holds him hostage in its grasp for a couple of breaths before letting him go, and he all but collapses on top of her, his heart thundering against hers. He doesn’t even care that he made a mess. He’s _spent_.

“That…wasn’t very rough,” she comments, panting to catch her own breath. He raises his head to look at her.

“We can go another round,” he says, his ears burning as soon as the words leave his mouth. When did he get so _bold_? “Or three.”

Tifa grins wolfishly.

“I like the way you think.”

**.**

**.**

**.**

The next morning, Vincent glares at both of them.

“Fuck you guys,” he grunts. “Don’t you have any shame?”

Cloud splutters, coughing into his hand. Tifa, her hand hooked onto his elbow, looks at him.

“Sweetie, do you wanna know what Vincent told me during the car ride over here?” Tifa asks, singing the words tauntingly. “Who he lost his virginity to—”

“Shush!” Vincent cuts her off, and it’s the first time Cloud has ever seen him so frazzled. Cloud takes great pleasure in it.

Claudia comes bumbling towards them, holding two of food, one for Tifa and one for Vincent. Cloud isn’t leaving yet, will probably stay for at least a week here with his mom. Zack and Aerith have promised to come by for dinner next weekend, too. Claudia envelopes Tifa into a tight hug, thanking her for coming.

“You’re welcome!” Tifa smiles wide. “I had so much fun. Dinner was amazing!”

“You’re incredible!” Claudia looks so happy she may begin to cry. “Please take care of my son! He can be a dolt at times!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Cloud whines.

“Don’t worry,” Tifa says, and she glances at Cloud. “I’ll take care of him.”

Tifa and Vincent leave, walking towards the car with their bags of food in hand. Tifa waves over her shoulder, and Cloud waves back, suddenly feeling empty. She hasn’t even left yet, and he already misses her. God. _God_ , he’s a mess.

And she says she has a Christmas present waiting for him when he gets back to his apartment. She’s too good to him. She’s absolutely _amazing_.

“I’m not implying anything,” Claudia says, taking Cloud’s hand into hers as they watch Vincent drive off. The roads, thankfully, were cleaned earlier in the morning. “But Tifa would be the perfect daughter-in-law.”

Cloud stammers, choking on his words. He feels the heat sting at his cheeks.

“ _Mom_!”

**.**

**.**

**.**

The very first thing Zack asked Cloud when he’d come back to the apartment was about their double date. Zack had been bursting at the seams, itching in excitement, because now that Cloud and Tifa were fine, the two couples could finally go on a double date. He’d offered some kind of indoor skydiving thing, and Cloud had very nearly punched him. Cloud’s afraid of heights, okay.

So, they decided to go through with their original idea: bowling. It’d started friendly enough at first. They’d paid for two hours, the first with Cloud and Tifa versing Aerith and Zack. The second hour grew less friendly very quickly, Aerith and Tifa teaming up to take down Cloud and Zack. And then, it, somehow, became a war.

“You’re cheating,” Aerith says, pointing directly at Zack after his strike. “You’re a fucking cheater.”

“I’m not a cheater; I’m just good!” Zack gives Cloud a high five.

“Don’t worry, Aerith!” Tifa yells consolingly. “We can catch up!”

Aerith is next to bowl, and she manages to land a spare. It’s good, but it’s not as good as Zack’s strike. Cloud’s next, and he gets a spare, as well, much to Zack’s excitement. Tifa’s next, and she isn’t the best bowler, and she isn’t able to knock down all of the pins, but that’s okay. She’s still perfect regardless.

Zack’s turn comes, and he doesn’t make another strike, but he does manage a spare. Aerith does, as well. The girls are only down by three points. Cloud’s next, and he’s very distracted by Tifa’s smile, how cute she looks in her jeans and sweater and bowling shoes and the scarf his mom had made for her.

He bowls, and it’s a gutter ball. Twice. He managed to completely miss every single pin.

“NO!” Zack wails in distress, his hands in his hair. Aerith and Tifa squeal in glee, and when Tifa bowls, she manages to knock down enough pins to win. While the girls celebrate, Zack grabs Cloud’s arm roughly. “You did this on purpose!”

“I did no such thing,” Cloud says, trying to stay nonchalant. Okay. Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to see Tifa win. She deserves to win.

After the game, Aerith and Zack decide that they’re hungry enough to purchase overpriced bowling alley food. They leave, hand-in-hand towards the food stands in the front, and Tifa settles next to Cloud on the bench. Her fingers immediately find his, threading them together.

“I went to the counseling center,” Tifa tells him, her free hand absently playing with his sleeve.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” She smiles at him, drenched in low, blue light, but she still sparkles vibrantly in his eyes. “Aerith went with me. She’s so happy we made up.”

Honestly, it was all because of her. And because of Zack. Cloud really doesn’t know what he’d do without them both. They’re like his rocks, ever consistent forces of happiness and logic in his dumb, messy life.

And Tifa is, as well. Therapy is a great step forward. It won’t solve every problem, and it’ll still be difficult, but Cloud has hope. Maybe they both can become better together, and they’ll be able to share with each other the best versions of themselves. Communication. Openness. Not letting insecurities and fears and sadness get in the way of their commitment to each other.

It won’t be easy, but they’re trying. And that’s what matters.

“Did you really let me win?” Tifa asks, her smile sly. Cloud clears his throat, turning away.

“N—no.”

She pecks him quickly on the cheek, giggling at the way he splutters.

“You’re sweet,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. But please don’t tell Zack. He’ll kick my ass.”

Tifa hollers into laughter.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Ah, the beginning of the spring semester. Cloud isn’t really sure if he’s ready to suffer for another three and a half months. Winter break passed him by, leaving him behind to fumble in the dust. It was far too short, and he misses it, the leisure, not having to stress about grades and assignments and tests. But perhaps, he’s happy about seeing his friends again. He hasn’t seen Vincent since Christmas, and he hasn’t seen Reno and Yuffie since weeks before Christmas.

The seven of them sit at their normal table in the campus café, laughing boisterously, sipping at their coffees and drinks. Tifa sits close to Cloud, nestled into his side, holding his hand firmly under the table.

“So, who do y’all think is gonna get married first?!”

There Zack goes again, being his dumb self. Cloud hates him.

“I vote Cloud and Tifa!” Yuffie yells, raising her hand. Auw. That’s sweet. “You guys are adorable!”

“We’re adorable, too!” Zack screams. “I’m offended!”

“I vote for Zack and Aerith!” Reno chimes. “Cloud and Tifa won’t make it past the year!”

“ _Hey_!” Tifa whines. “That’s rude!”

“Sorry! But I’m not changing my vote!”

Fuck Reno. Cloud hates that guy, too. Cloud and Tifa will _totally_ last past the year, especially with this newfound communication and commitment and effort between them.

“Vincent, how about you?” Aerith asks. Vincent only shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms.

“I’ll say you two, only because Cloud’s an idiot.”

“Fuck you guys,” Cloud seethes. Seriously, he hates his friends. Yes, he may be an idiot, but he’s _Tifa’s_ idiot, okay. “Tifa and I are gonna be together forever.”

“I agree with that.”

Cloud is surprised at the new voice. Bald Man Rude comes, and Tifa greets him happily. Reno greets him with a handshake; huh, Cloud didn’t know that they were friends. Rude settles into an empty seat next to Yuffie.

“You want in, Baldie?!” Zack screams. “We’re betting five hundred on who’s getting married first!”

“Yeah, why not?” Rude says.

“Listen,” Aerith begins. “If we lose contact with you by the time Zack and I get married, we’re gonna hunt you down and demand that you send us the money.”

“Yeah,” Zack says, nodding. “We’re serious.”

“Alright,” Rude agrees, laughing easily.

Even Rude’s an idiot. Cloud feels like he loses ten braincells every time he listens to his friends talk. When Reno and Yuffie launch into a shouting match about which the best ghost type Pokémon is, Cloud decides to get up to go get himself some food to eat. It’s lunchtime, and he hasn’t eaten at all today. Zack and Tifa decide to go with him, Zack feeling hungry himself, Tifa just wanting to tag along. As the three walk away, Reno yells.

“Yo, get me a turkey sandwich!”

“No!” Tifa yells back. “You said Cloud and I won’t last!”

“I’m _sorry_!”

Zack roars in laughter. Cloud gets in line, Tifa next to him, holding his hand. Tifa and Zack are talking about some class they’re taking together, and Cloud’s very focused on the menu. What does he want? A chicken sandwich? Chicken is always good. But should he get turkey to rub it into Reno’s face? Decisions, decisions.

His attention is caught by someone walking into the café. Someone blond and dressed in Gucci. A horrible, stupid, douchebag of a human being.

 _Rufus Fucking Shinra_.

Immediately, Cloud’s being is flooded in seething anger. He hasn’t seen that asshole of a man since the winter event back in December, when he’d stolen the basketball from Cloud, made all the shots, and then proceeded to tear Cloud’s self-esteem apart into shreds. To top it off, he _gave Tifa the penguin_.

Cloud absolutely fucking despises this man.

Tifa’s mood immediately sours, a frown bending into her brow. Zack, having heard what happened, glares at Rufus. Rufus catches Tifa’s stare, and he begins to walk towards her.

Only until Cloud _accidentally_ pokes out his foot. And Rufus Fucking Shinra trips right over his ankle, going tumbling to the floor with an ugly wail. The students in the café immediately burst into laughter, Zack included. Tifa tries hiding her laugh behind her hand, but she fails, snorting into Cloud’s shoulder.

“Oops,” Cloud says monotonously. “Sorry. My leg slipped.”

Rufus gets up, and Cloud relishes in it, the fact that he, who acts all high and mighty and thinks he’s above everyone, was brought down in embarrassment so easily. Cloud’s happy. Proud of himself. Feels like it was a tiny revenge but well-deserved.

After all, the first fight he and Tifa had was Rufus’ fault. And Rufus had been relentlessly pestering Tifa, despite the fact that she refused his advances many times. Someone like that deserves to be tripped and humiliated.

“Good job, bro!” Zack pats him on the back. “Never thought you’d have the balls!”

Cloud shrugs. “He bothered Tifa. So, I had to get back at him.”

Tifa looks at him, holding onto his arm. “You’re so sweet.”

“Damn, you are whipped for her,” Zack says. Cloud scowls, because that’s like the pot calling the kettle black. Zack is even more whipped for Aerith.

Tifa clings to Cloud’s arm, looking up at him with her wide, glittering eyes. Starry eyes, pretty pools of red that leave him breathless. Her smile is golden and sunny, warm and sweet on his tongue. He remembers why he fell for her, why he’s still so smitten with her. How he managed to fall so deeply in love with her.

“I think you’re right,” she says softly. “We _are_ going to be together forever.”

Of course he’s whipped for her. He’s an absolute fool for her, after all. And he always will be.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and it's done!!! thank u all so much for reading my dumb little story! it isn't my best work, but i sure did have fun writing it. all ur kudos and sweet comments mean the absolute world to me. i was really nervous to start posting my writing (since i have anxiety like our dear cloud) but im really really glad that i did! i appreciate all of you so much. thank you!!!
> 
> i'll be posting another cloti story very soon, so look out for that! until then, i'll be on the discord and also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoegeta_) where i'll maybe be posting my cloti art?? 👀 i dont know yet! we'll see haha
> 
> again, thank u, and i love u all <333


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